They Shook Hands : Year 1
by Dethryl
Summary: Suppose Draco Malfoy introduced himself before he started acting like an ass. What if he had asked Harry's name before insulting Hagrid? A friendly handshake in Madam Malkin's leads to an alternate but realistic universe which is eerily like the canon,
1. Diagon Alley

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

Suppose Draco Malfoy introduced himself before he started acting like an ass. What if he had asked Harry's name before insulting Hagrid? A friendly handshake in Madam Malkin's leads to an alternate but realistic universe which is eerily like the canon, featuring a cast of first year Slytherins as you've never seen them: normal children. Join Harry Potter and his new friends as they discover their magical talents and help him to explore the world that has been kept from him these past ten years.

**STOP AND READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

This story was begun in 2001, post-GOF. As such, it contains several anachronisms. Blaise Zabini is written as a blonde girl. Nott's first name is Tim. There is a new character named Jenna Moon. Please don't lose your shirt because it's not 100% canonesque. Now that the canon is complete, I have revised the story to take into account later details, including some things from Pottermore (don't worry, nothing spoilery!). Names were changed to protect the innocent: Tim to Theo, Jenna Moon to Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini to Tracy Davis. The black kid who doesn't get any screentime in canon until HBP is worked in by a particular fit of genius. It's as close as I can make it to canon without rewriting the entire series, and I'm not going to go that far. I am leaving this original version of the story posted for posterity.

**If you are new to this story, please read the Revision! You can find the link in my profile.**

Continued from Chapter Five of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

**Chapter One - Diagon Alley**

One wild cart ride later, they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life - more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here. There's another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it up to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books, and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I think I'll bully father into getting me one, and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"

The boy's arrogant manner reminded Harry a bit of Dudley.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. I'll need that new broom, though. I've got a Comet Two-Sixty right now, top of the line, but it's not a professional broom by any means. I don't see why first years can't have them. It's just not fair."

Harry nodded, not really having his own opinion on the matter.

"Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin; all our family have been. Speaking of family, what's your surname?"

"Oh," Harry said, quite pleased that the boy had asked. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter. Ow!"

The exclamation came as Madam Malkin missed a stroke and stabbed him with the needle.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry dear." She turned to her assistant. "Imagine that, Alice, Harry Potter himself coming in to my shop for his robes." She tittered again and continued her hemming.

The other boy had raised an eyebrow as he sized Harry up. "From all the stories they tell about you, I thought you'd be taller," he finally said. It was true, Harry was only a fraction taller than him.

"I'm not short!" Harry protested.

The boy smirked at him. "Never said you were. Father told me that you were my age, but I had no idea we'd meet before getting to school. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

He held out his hand. Harry shook it. "Nice to meet you," he said politely.

"I say, look at that man!" said Draco suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice cream cones to show he couldn't come in."

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to be able to talk about something. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Draco, "I've heard about him. He's a servant of some kind, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry, feeling a bit put out. Hagrid had rescued him from the Dursleys.

"Yes, exactly. The Headmaster at Hogwarts took him on after he got expelled. Now he lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

Draco peered into his face. "You're Harry Potter, and he's a nobody. Why are you defending him?" he asked curiously.

"He told me I was a wizard and took me away from the Muggles I was living with."

"The Muggles you were living with? You mean you never knew about all this?"

"No."

"So that's why you don't play Quidditch or know what house you'll be in," said Draco with sudden epiphany. "You don't know anything about the wizarding world."

Too ashamed to voice it, Harry only shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said softly. "I think that's a right crime, depriving a true-born wizard of his heritage."

"Thank you," said Harry. He didn't really know what else to say.

"Listen, what I said about that Hagrid fellow," Draco began, "I was only telling you the truth. I hope you're not going to hate me for telling you the truth."

Shame washed over Harry. Here this boy was trying to be friendly, and Harry was being right beastly about it all. "No, I don't hate you. But I think you should give Hagrid a chance. He's been very nice to me."

"You need proper friends, though," Draco decided. "Boys your own age. Shall we be friends, Harry?"

In his whole life, no one had ever wanted to be Harry's friend. Everyone had always been too afraid of Dudley. But there was no Dudley in the wizarding world. "I'd like that," he said sincerely.

"Brilliant!" Draco said enthusiastically. "After we have our robes all finished, we can go around and do everything else. You've got to look at the new Nimbus Two Thousand. I'm going to see if I can convince Father to get me one as a late birthday present."

"I think I'm supposed to stay with Hagrid," Harry said reluctantly. He really wanted to spend time with his new friend.

Draco waved such concerns away. "Father is on the board of school governors. I'm sure everything will be alright."

Harry marvelled at how nothing seemed to bother Draco. He found himself being caught up in the blond boy's enthusiasm.

Madam Malkin and her assistant, Alice, had just finished up with the last of their robes when a distinguished-looking gentleman stepped into the shop. He had the same pale skin and pointed face as Draco, even the same cold, grey eyes. His robes were subtle, yet superbly made. He wore a fur hat on his head and carried a snake-headed silver cane in his left hand.

"Father!" Draco said with spirit. "I want you to meet Harry Potter!"

Draco's father peered at him intently, and Harry felt the man's eyes linger on the scar on his forehead. It may have been his imagination, but Mr. Malfoy's hand tightened on the handle of his cane.

"I always imagined you would be taller," he said in a pleasant voice, echoing his son's comment. He reached out his hand. "Lucius Malfoy, Mister Potter. How do you do?"

Harry shook hands. "How do you do, sir."

"Father, can Harry come around to the shops with us? I've got a lot to tell him all about Hogwarts."

Mr. Malfoy smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "I don't see why that would be a problem."

"I'm here with Hagrid, Mister Malfoy. He's sort of in charge of me right now."

"Hagrid?" Mr. Malfoy asked incredulously. "Hagrid isn't qualified to be in charge of flobberworms. If he's in charge of you, where is he?"

"He was here just a minute ago. He had ice cream cones, but they were melting. Maybe he went to get cleaned up?"

"Well, I do think I saw him stepping into the Leaky Cauldron a few minutes ago. I would wager he'll be awhile rejoining us. Impossible man. He can't go a day without getting roaring drunk. No self-control."

Harry didn't want to challenge the word of such an important man, so he said nothing. He chewed his lip, wishing he could say something in Hagrid's defence, but nothing was coming to mind.

Draco was tugging him towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. "C'mon, let's go look!"

"I have to get my books," Harry protested feebly.

"Father?"

Mr. Malfoy smiled again, indulgent of his son's eagerness. "I'll take care of it, Harry. May I call you Harry?"

He nodded.

"You boys run off and look at brooms. I'll pick up another set of books and meet you both at Ollivanders in thirty minutes. Not one second later, understand Draco?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said, already looking towards the shop.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry as he followed his new friend towards the broom shop. "Your dad's really nice," he said to Draco.

"He's strict about the rules, but there's not that many of them. Otherwise he's very easy-going. Just don't make an enemy out of him. He's got a brutal sarcastic streak."

They looked at the Nimbus 2000 for quite awhile, and Draco explained to him a lot about Hogwarts.

"There's four houses and the best is Slytherin. Anyone who wants to succeed is in Slytherin. It's the house for the ambitious, the clever, and the sneaky. If you're really smart then you belong in Ravenclaw. My brother Elan says they're a bunch of bookworms. If you like to work hard then you'll be in Hufflepuff, so they say, but Elan says they're a bunch of duffers. They have to work hard because they don't really fit anywhere else. Then if you've got more courage than common sense, you're in Gryffindor. They don't understand that sometimes discretion is the better part of valour."

"What's that mean?"

"Sometimes you should run away because otherwise you might get hurt." Draco was grinning.

Harry pondered that philosophy and found that it made a lot of sense. Certainly running away from Dudley was the best policy. "So Slytherin is the best house?"

"That's right. Unfortunately people don't think kindly of Slytherin sometimes."

"Why's that?"

"Well one of the key traits is ambition, see? There's all kinds of ambition, and one of those is the desire for power. That means that more Dark wizards and witches have come from Slytherin House than any other, and it's given us a bad reputation. When a Dark wizard comes from any other house it's just brushed off as a one-time thing, but with Slytherin it's treated as the rule."

"That doesn't seem very fair," Harry commented. "To judge a whole house by the example of a few people?"

Draco turned to Harry and looked at him for a few seconds. Finally, he said, "You understand. No, it's not fair. I think it all comes from them being jealous."

As Draco talked about why the other houses were jealous of Slytherin, they'd won the House and Quidditch Cups every year for the last six years, Harry was feeling very happy. It was only his first day in an exciting new world, and he'd already made a friend his own age. Draco wasn't acting at all like the people in the Leaky Cauldron had and seemed to genuinely like him. It was a new experience for Harry and he hoped it would last.

Quidditch also sounded very interesting and Harry bought a copy of a book called _Quidditch Through The Ages_ so he could read all about it. Draco was assuring him that riding a broom was the best sensation in the world as they walked out, heading towards the wand maker's shop.

"I've missed out on so much," Harry said wistfully.

"What was it like?" Draco asked curiously. "Living with Muggles, I mean?"

"I hate it," Harry replied instantly. "I hate them. I got blamed for everything. Uncle Vernon seemed to think I was some sort of devil. Aunt Petunia is a horrible, shrewish woman. Dudley is just a fat monster. He and his friends used to enjoy bashing me. I think he got it from Uncle Vernon."

"Did they, did they hit you?" Draco's words were uncertain, as though he didn't know how to ask his questions. Harry wondered if wizards ever hit their children.

"Sometimes. When something happened that they couldn't explain, I'd always get in trouble. He'd smack me and I'd get locked in the cupboard under the stairs. If I was absolutely silent, sometimes I'd get dinner." Harry's voice was dead, with no emotion whatsoever. He might as well have been reading from the encyclopaedia. He'd never told anyone how the Dursleys had treated him, but Draco was his friend, and Harry knew friends talked to each other.

"What horrible, horrible people," Draco said. "My family doesn't like Muggles, Harry. Never has. Now I've got another reason. How can anyone treat a boy like that?"

Harry had no answer, but fortunately he didn't have to give one, for they had arrived at Ollivanders. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the front window. The shop was narrow and shabby.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, filled with shelves. Thousands of narrow boxes filled those shelves, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of Harry's neck prickled. The very dust in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Draco, there you are!"

A blonde woman, tall and slim, wearing very nice dark blue robes knelt down and hugged Draco. She was smiling broadly, and Harry could see that she had very pretty teeth.

"Mum!" Draco cried, clearly scandalized about being hugged in front of his new friend.

"Oh don't be silly, Draco. I'm your mother, I'm sure he understands."

"Umm, Mum? This is Harry Potter."

Draco's mother turned a most unflattering shade of red. "Oh by the stars," she muttered. "I've fumbled it now."

Then she composed herself and smiled, the flush fading from her cheeks, and she offered Harry her hand. "Narcissa Malfoy. It's a pleasure, Harry."

Harry shook hands. "How do you do, ma'am?"

"Good afternoon, Harry Potter," said a soft voice, startling him. "I rather suspected I'd be seeing you here soon."

An old man was standing behind the counter, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"You have your mother's eyes," he said. "It seems only yesterday that she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander stepped around the counter. Harry hadn't yet seen him blink those creepy silver eyes.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it. It's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

The wand maker had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head, turning to Draco. "And young Master Malfoy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your mother has told me a great deal about you."

"I'm sure she has," Draco said wryly.

"Well then, let's get you two lads fitted. Mister Malfoy, which is your wand arm?"

"Left."

"Mister Potter?"

"I'm right-handed, sir."

Mr. Ollivander snapped his fingers and two measuring tapes hurried over and began taking all sorts of measurements on the two boys. They measured from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round the head.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We customarily use unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

As he talked, Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the two tapes crumpled to the floor. "Right then, Mister Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and, feeling foolish, waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-"

Harry tried, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back.

"Mister Malfoy, give this one a wave."

Draco did so, and a jug of water on the counter exploded. Water spilled everywhere. Mr. Ollivander shook his head. "No, apparently not." He handed over another. "Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the counter, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Two tricky customers, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere. Mister Malfoy, try this."

Draco took the wand and raised it above his head. He swished it down and a stream of green and silver sparks filled the air around him.

"Oh! How pretty!" said Mrs. Malfoy. "Slytherin colours, you see that Mister Ollivander?"

Mr. Ollivander was nodding to himself as he put the wand away and wrapped it in brown paper, very satisfied. "Yes, a rather unusual wand. Silver lime. I know of a patch out in Cardiff. Eleven and a half inches, very bendy. A core of dragon heartstring. Rather appropriate, I do believe Master Malfoy also has some dragon heartstring in his wand."

"Now, Mister Potter. Let's see if we can't find yours."

They went through another half dozen boxes before Mr. Ollivander pulled a box out from near the back.

"I wonder, now. Yes, why not? Unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of gold and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls. Draco whooped and clapped for his friend while Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

He put Harry's wand back in its box and began wrapping it up, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."

"Excuse me sir, but what's curious?" Harry asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mister Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother. . . why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed hard.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. I think we must expect great things from you, Mister Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered, though the day was not particularly cold.

Draco put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's all right, Harry. He's dead now. He can't hurt you."

Harry looked at his friend, seeing the sympathy in his face. He half-smiled, letting Draco know that he appreciated the support.

"Harry!" That was Hagrid's voice booming through the wand shop. The ice cream was nowhere to be seen. "Why did yeh run off like that?"

"I didn't run off!" Harry protested. "I was with my new friend, Draco."

"Draco?" Hagrid's face was a storm cloud.

"Malfoy," Draco drawled in an insulting tone, "Draco Malfoy. Son of Lucius by Narcissa."

"Hagrid, there is no call for acting like this," Mrs. Malfoy said, appearing very put out. Her nose had risen slightly into the air, and was wrinkled slightly, as though she found something distasteful.

"C'mon, Harry, we're going." Hagrid put a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Hagrid, what's wrong?" Harry was very confused. Hagrid was not acting at all like the nice person he'd been before.

"The boy can't leave without his books, Hagrid," said Mr. Malfoy as he closed the door behind him. "And do pipe down, I could hear you clear down the lane."

"Mister Malfoy." Hagrid's voice was anything but pleasant, a stark contrast to Draco's father.

"It's good to see that you haven't lost _all_ of your manners, Hagrid. There's no problem here at all."

"Harry's with me. I'm in charge of him." Hagrid was half-growling his words.

"The boy is perfectly alright with me," Mr. Malfoy said urbanely.

"Professor Dumbledore put him in my hands!"

Mr. Malfoy clucked his tongue. "Hagrid, you do recall that I am on the board of governors? I would never let anything happen to Harry Potter, or any other student. I assure you, I have everything well in hand."

"One governor does not overrule the Headmaster," Hagrid practically snarled.

"Gentles, please vacate my shop," Mr. Ollivander said firmly. He held his own wand in his hand now. "Mister Potter, seven Galleons please. Mister Malfoy, the same."

Harry dug out his money and paid for his wand. Draco's mother slid seven gold coins across the counter as well.

They all piled out into the street, Mrs. Malfoy standing next to her husband, Draco standing near Harry. Hagrid pulled Harry closer to him, away from his friend. Harry could smell spilled alcohol.

"We still got lots ter buy an' can best do it w'out interference from the likes o' you." Hagrid's face was a little red, Harry could see in the daylight.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't cross me, Hagrid. You had better believe that I will be taking this issue up with the board. You'll have to be lucky in the extreme to keep your job."

He handed Harry a bag filled with books. "There you are, Harry."

"Thank you, sir." Harry reached into his pocket for some money.

"No, no, consider them a birthday present."

Harry swallowed. Charity, from a man he'd barely met. Did he look that ragged? "Sir, I can't. I just wouldn't feel right about it. Please take the money."

Mr. Malfoy studied Harry's face for a moment. "Very well, Harry, if that's how you feel. It came to five Galleons and some small change. Just give me the Galleons. I do believe that the rest was about the cost of your Defence Against the Dark Arts text, which I _will_ insist on gifting you with."

Harry handed over the coins. "Thank you again, Mister Malfoy. It was nice to meet you."

"The pleasure was all mine, Harry," he said, shaking hands. "Do take care. I hope to see you again."

Mrs. Malfoy knelt down and kissed him on both cheeks. "Goodbye, dear. Study hard. You're going to be a great wizard."

Harry felt himself blushing to his roots. "Ma'am," was all he could say.

"Bye Harry!" said Draco, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "I'll save you a seat on the train!"

"Thanks, Draco. I'll see you then."

Hagrid had said nothing during this exchange, but his face was furious. He kept his eye on the Malfoy family as he stepped away, keeping himself between them and Harry. He kept up a brisk pace, forcing Harry to practically run to keep up. People were clearing out of his path as he marched directly for the Apothecary.

"I don't know what yeh was thinkin', Harry, goin' off like that. And with Lucius Malfoy, of all people!"

Harry felt anger rising up from inside him. "What's so wrong with him? He seemed like a perfectly nice man. He went and bought my books for me so that Draco and I could get to know each other. I made a friend today, Hagrid, and I've never had a friend before."

"Malfoys are trouble. Old purebloods and snobby as the devil about it. Yer better off staying away from 'em."

"They were being perfectly civil to me," Harry ground out between clenched teeth. "Then you came along and ruined everything. You didn't even give them a chance. You just barged in and started making assumptions."

Hagrid's face fell as he realized just how angry Harry was with him. He looked down at the tiny boy and could see his lifebeat pulsing in the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe yeh'll just have to see for yourself. C'mon, we still got some things ter buy."

Hagrid kept a close eye on Harry as he asked the clerk for a supply of basic potion ingredients. Harry didn't particularly want to be around the big man in his current mood, so he busied himself investigating the shop.

The smell was awful, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. He saw silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

From there they picked up Harry's cauldron, a set of scales, and a collapsible brass telescope. When there was nothing left to buy, they returned to the brick wall that led out of Diagon Alley. The large man reached into his shaggy overcoat and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Harry.

"That 'ere's yer ticket fer the Hogwarts Express. It leaves at 'leven o'clock from King's Cross station. All the information is on the ticket. Now let's get yeh a train back home."

Harry didn't speak at all as they walked back through the empty pub, down the road, on the Underground, up an escalator, and into London Bridge station. He only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yer train leaves in ten minutes. Best yeh be on it."

Hagrid looked like he wanted to say something else, but did not. Harry boarded the train and watched Hagrid until he was out of sight.

to be continued...


	2. The Journey From Platform Nine

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Two - The Journey From Platform Nine and Three-Quarters**

Dudley was now so scared of Harry that he wouldn't stay in the same room. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do anything, or shout at him - in fact, they didn't speak to him at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after awhile.

Harry kept to his room, eagerly reading his school books. He wanted to do well at school, wanted to do his Mum and Dad proud. The books were very interesting, especially _A History of Magic_. He lay on his bed reading all day and late into the night. Every night before he went to sleep, Harry ticked off another day on the piece of parchment he had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

His friend Draco Malfoy was constantly on his mind. He'd been so excited about Hogwarts and Quidditch that Harry could not help but be infected with his enthusiasm. For the first time, Harry was looking forward to something, to seeing his friend again. Draco was a friend that the Dursleys didn't know about. It was something Harry had for himself.

On the last day of August, he thought he'd better speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on the telly. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Dudley screamed and ran out of the room.

"Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

"My train to school leaves from King's Cross tomorrow at eleven o'clock."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Will you give me a lift? Or at least give me fare for the train there?"

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

He turned to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a w-wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Harry's head whipped back around as he glared at Uncle Vernon. What would he know about it?

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"Planning on visiting me, are you?" said Harry, his voice turning vaguely insulting.

"Watch your tongue, boy, or you'll be walking to the ruddy station."

"Good night," Harry said, having gotten his answer. He turned back and walked up the stairs to his room.

He threw himself on the bed and flipped open _The Standard Book of Spells_. Maybe there was some nasty curse in the end chapters that he could learn and use it on Uncle Vernon before he left.

A frantic tapping at the window startled him from his reading. Peering outside he could see an owl hovering there. He hurried over and opened the window, stepping back to let the messenger inside. Hagrid had used an owl to send Professor Dumbledore a letter and had told him that wizards used owls to deliver their mail. Who could be writing to him?

The eagle owl circled the room and then landed on Harry's shoulder. He grunted with the sudden weight. The bird stuck out its leg, permitting Harry to untie the letter. With a quick hop, the owl perched on the bed frame and began to groom itself.

Harry opened up the letter.

__

Dear Harry,

Summer hols still going good, I hope. Those Muggles haven't been bothering you, right? We're not supposed to do magic outside of school, but officially you don't know that yet. They don't tell you until after first year is over and you start the holiday. So if you want to hex them and get away with it, now's the time. There's a few good ones in chapter twenty of your Dark Forces book.

I've been telling my friends all about you except for stuff that could let them figure out your name. They all want to meet you, so we're definitely saving you a seat in our compartment, even if I have to kick Goyle out.

I wasn't sure if you'd got a post owl, so I told Arlette to wait for a return letter. If you could give her some toast leftover from tea, she'd be grateful. If you didn't get an owl, you should get one. They're dead useful.

In the meantime, I'll see you at the station.

Your friend,

Draco

Harry looked up at the owl. She had finished preening and was looking at him with her head slightly cocked to one side. She hooted gently at him. She was hungry.

"C'mon downstairs with me, girl," he said, holding one arm out. When Arlette had perched on his forearm, he went back downstairs and into the kitchen.

Feeling a mite peckish himself, he put two slices of bread in the toaster. While he waited for them to toast, he wrote his return letter.

__

Dear Draco,

The Muggles have been ignoring me, which is a blessing. I can't wait to get out of here. I'm looking forward to meeting your friends. Thanks for telling Arlette to stick around. I wouldn't have been able to reply without her. Does Eeylop's take postal orders?

Your friend,

Harry

It would do. Harry didn't know exactly how one should go about writing a letter to a friend. He'd never had friends before. He folded the paper up and looked for Arlette.

She was already perched on the toaster, nibbling at the toast. She held a piece down with her talons and tore at it with her beak. Arlette was a beautiful bird, Harry could see. A very hungry, beautiful bird.

A piercing shriek nearly made Harry jump out of his skin. His ears ringing, he turned and saw Aunt Petunia standing in the doorway. She had one hand pointing at the toaster.

"What is that?" she screeched.

Arlette calmly looked at Aunt Petunia.

_Hoot!_

"Out!" she shrieked in outrage.

Harry picked up his letter and the remaining toast. Arlette lighted on his shoulder as he pushed past Aunt Petunia on his way upstairs.

"Vernon!" she yelled. Clearly she had issues with owls being in the house.

Harry shut out their noise as he shut his door. He handed the remaining toast over to Draco's owl and tied the letter onto her leg.

"Thanks for visiting," he said, not sure how one spoke to a post owl. "It was fun."

Arlette hooted at him, nipped his ear, and flapped her wings, soaring out through the open window and off into the night.

Harry woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. He got up and pulled on his trousers, not wanting to walk into the station in his wizard's robes. He would change on the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had everything he needed, then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Harry's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursley's car, Aunt Petunia had bribed Dudley into sitting next to Harry, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's trunk out onto the curb and got back into the car without saying a word. Harry pulled a cart over and was about to ask for help when the Dursleys drove off, giving him a face full of exhaust.

Choking, Harry somehow muscled his trunk onto the cart and wheeled it inside. He pulled out his ticket to see what platform he was leaving from and stared at it in amazement.

It read Platform 9 & ¾. Was this some kind of test? Was it a foolish joke? Seeing no alternative, he pushed his cart down to where platforms nine and ten were.

Harry stared up at the big plastic numbers. There was only a 9 and a 10. What was he going to do?

He stopped a passing guard, but he didn't dare mention the absurdity of a platform with a fraction in it. He could see for himself that it didn't plainly exist. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts, and when Harry couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, figuring that would be the proper train. When the guard told him there was no such train and walked away, muttering about time wasters, Harry tried hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts, and he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and no idea what to do.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. Should he get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten?

At that moment a group of people passed just behind him, and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"-packed with Muggles, of course-"

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him, and they had an _owl_.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped, and so did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her mother's hand. "Mum, can't I go too?"

"Next year, Ginny, next year. All right, Percy, you first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it - but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, your turn," the plump woman said.

"He's not Fred, I am!" protested one of the twins.

The other looked very hurt and cast his mother a reproachful glance. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

George lined up his cart with the divider and flashed her a grin. "Only joshing. I am Fred really," he said, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone - but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the barrier - he was almost there - and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes. The thing is," said Harry hesitantly, "the thing is, I don't know how to-"

"How to get onto the platform?" she asked kindly, and Harry nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier there. Don't stop and don't worry about crashing into it, otherwise you will. Best to do it at a bit of a run, if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Thank you," he said, very nervous now.

He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that barrier, and then he'd be in trouble. Leaning forward on his cart, he broke into a heavy run. The barrier was coming nearer and nearer. He wouldn't be able to stop. The cart had too much momentum built up. He was a metre away. He closed his eyes, ready for the crash.

It didn't come. He kept on running and opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He'd made it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart down the platform in search of Draco, the only person he knew. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of the box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

"Harry!" shouted a familiar voice.

Harry turned round and saw Draco rushing his way. Then he was there, and Harry thought his friend might shake his arm off.

"You made it!" he said breathlessly. "I was starting to worry."

"I couldn't figure out how to get onto the platform," Harry replied. "I guess Hagrid forgot to tell me."

Draco's upper lip curled back in a sneer, but he didn't say anything. "So how'd you do it?"

"Asked some people with an owl," Harry said with a casual shrug. He'd seen Draco act nonchalant and consciously imitated him.

Draco laughed and put his hands on the cart. "C'mon, we're back here," he said, guiding the cart to a compartment towards the middle of the train. Working together, they easily got the trunk off the trolley and loaded into the train.

Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead. "That trunk is heavy."

"Father already left, but he sends his respects. Mum was meeting a friend for lunch, so she couldn't come with us. She sent you a tin of biscuits."

"I'll write her a thank you note immediately," Harry promised.

Before Draco could answer, several other children came piling into the compartment.

"It was a tarantula," one boy was saying. He was a little bit taller than Harry, with light brown hair that was cut short. He was already dressed in his school robes.

"And how do you know that, Tim?" asked a girl who almost looked like more of a boy than the boy did. She was of medium height and skinny, a tomboy if there ever was one; her plain brown hair was straight and limp, reaching to her jawline.

"I asked him, Millie."

"You were talking with a Gryffindor?" spat another girl, disgust written across her pug-like face. Her black hair was shiny, though, and neatly pulled into two braids.

"Shut up, Parkinson."

"Make me, Nott."

"Witch."

"Arsehole."

"Shrew."

"I'm going to hex you."

Tim Nott smiled in a wicked, inviting sort of manner. "Any time, love." He bowed to her and sat down. "Oi, Draco, is this the chap you said we all had to meet?"

Draco nodded, practically bursting with pride. "I'd like you all to meet my friend, Harry Potter."

Other than a gasp from Parkinson, the entire compartment went dead silent. Nott was staring at him, while the two girls weren't much better.

"Blimey," breathed Nott, clearly overwhelmed. "I'm going to hex _you_, Draco, for keeping that a secret."

"You must be joking," Draco snapped. "Keeping it a secret? Isn't a chap entitled to surprise his mates every now and then?"

"Of course you are, Draco," said Parkinson. "But this is a pretty big shock. What if one of us had a weak heart?"

"You're eleven years old, Pansy," Nott pointed out.

"Shut up, Nott."

"Make me."

"Dirt eater."

"Hag."

"Muggle licker."

Nott began turning red. "You'll regret that."

"Not more than I regret knowing you."

Harry was a little uneasy at the casual exchange of insults. Draco must have noticed this, because he nudged Harry with his elbow.

"Ignore them. They've been at each other like this since they learned how to talk."

"Oh," said Harry. "Alright."

"Are those two at it again?" asked a new voice, this one belonging to a pretty girl with a tumbled mane of blonde hair. She was about Harry's height, with bright blue eyes that were shining in utter amusement. Obviously she knew the pair and their natures.

"Blaise," the girl named Millie greeted her. "And yes, of course they're at it. But what do you mean 'again'? They've never stopped, have they?"

"I think when they sleep. Hello," she said, reaching a hand out to Harry. "Blaise Zabini."

Harry shook hands. "Harry Potter."

Eyes wide, she shook hands enthusiastically. Then she turned to glare around the compartment. "Who's been keeping secrets?"

Millie pointed at Draco.

"Malfoy?" she said, her tone threatening.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"How could you?"

"I said I'd made a friend you ought to meet."

"Yes, but you didn't say it was Harry Potter!"

"So?" Draco said, putting a load of contempt into his voice. "Better you know about him and want to meet him without that."

"Point," she conceded. "But I'll have my revenge."

"I'm sure you will," he said with an oily smirk. "But anyways, since you cads are being so uncivilized, I guess I'll have to make the introductions. Harry, I'd like you to meet my friends. That there's Tim Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and you've met Blaise."

"Pleasure to meet you all," Harry said sincerely.

The whistle sounded. Everyone looked around.

"Where's Crabbe and Goyle?" Draco asked.

"Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber? They're one compartment down playing Exploding Snap." Blaise made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "Why you tolerate those fools, I'll never know."

"Brute muscle has its place at times, Blaise."

"Rent an ogre."

"Have you seen Terry or Mandy yet?" Tim asked.

"Terry's sitting two compartments up with some boys I don't know."

"Muggleborns?" was Tim's suspicious reply.

Blaise frowned in concentration. "I'm not sure. I wasn't really paying attention to them. I think one of them was wearing Muggle brand trainers."

Draco waved his hand. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything," he said. "They make footwear better than any wizard."

"Your father would have you gutted and hung on a fence if he heard you talking like that," Pansy jabbed at him.

"He said it himself," Draco defended. "Think about it. Wizards have brooms, Floo, and Apparition. Why do we need to walk anywhere? We certainly have no real need to run, except when we're young and can't Apparate. Plus we're not allowed brooms as first years and have no reason to Floo anywhere."

"What about Mandy?" Tim pressed.

Pansy grinned wickedly. "Does our ickle Timmikins have a cwush on pwitty wittle Mandy?"

"She's my friend, twit," snarled Tim.

Blaise shook her head, sending her blonde hair whipping around. "I haven't seen her. I can't find the Patil twins either."

A knock on the door of their compartment interrupted them. A tall older boy who looked eerily like Draco stuck his head in. He had the same pale blond hair, the same grey eyes. Even his chin was pointed and his posture very proper.

"Everything going well, my lads and ladies?"

"Elan," Draco greeted his older brother.

"I'm just looking in on everyone before I go up to the front of the train. The prefects have two compartments to themselves." Sure enough, a shiny silver badge pinned to his billowing black Hogwarts robes had the letter P on it.

"Oh, are you a prefect?" Tim asked with total innocence.

"Quiet, you," Elan bantered back. "I know I showed you the badge when you were up at the Manor."

"I think we're all right, Elan. Thanks," Draco said.

"Very good," he said poshly. "If anything comes up, you know where to find me."

"You'll be snogging my sister," said Blaise.

Elan turned a most interesting shade of scarlet. He fled without another word. Clearly this group had long experience in pushing his buttons.

The train began to move. Harry glanced out the window and saw the platform disappear as the train picked up speed. It rounded the corner and the station was gone. Houses flashed by the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was headed toward, but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.

The children in his compartment were all very curious about what it had been like living with Muggles. Each of them was clearly from one of the old wizarding families that Draco had talked about in Diagon Alley.

"It was horrible," he said. "Well- most of them, anyways. My aunt and uncle and cousin though, are the worst of the bunch in my opinion. They had a letter that Dumbledore had written to tell me all about my parents and being a wizard and all, but they kept it from me. Until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or my parents or Voldemort-"

Blaise and Millicent gasped. Draco and Tim looked impressed. Pansy fell back in a faint.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" Tim whispered loudly, clearly over-awed.

"I'm not trying to be _brave_ or anything, you know," said Harry, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean, I've got loads to learn. I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"Worthless Muggles," Draco spat. "Not telling him he's a wizard! Keeping his heritage from him!"

"Agreed," said Blaise. "That's a sin that's unpardonable. Not to worry, Harry, we'll help you out. You're not going to be at a disadvantage just because of some stupid Muggles. We're going to take care of you. You'll be the brother we never had."

Harry blushed. He wasn't used to people doing nice things for him. "Thanks. Wish I had a wizard brother or sister."

Draco and Blaise immediately reassured him that it wasn't that special, and primarily just meant someone to annoy on a regular basis.

"Plus he's nosy," said Draco. "Can't stand the idea of something going on that he doesn't know everything about. Forever poking in where he's not wanted."

"Jamie's just as bad. Forever asking me stupid questions," Blaise chimed in. "Honestly, those two deserve each other."

And there was much giggling.

"But Elan did tell me about the Sorting," Draco said. The others ooh'd and aah'd in astonishment.

"Jamie wouldn't budge. I even threatened to tell Mum about the time when she snuck out to see a boy, but it was no good. At least Jamie got in trouble."

"Elan told me not to worry at all. The great and mysterious trial is nothing more complex than putting a hat on your head."

"What?" they all asked.

"It's called the Sorting Hat, and it was made by the four Founders long ago. You put it on your head, and then it screams out your house for the whole school to hear."

Tim was agape. "But that's easy! I was certain we'd need spells! I had a whole list of nasty hexes lined up!"

"Waste of time, mate," Draco said with a smirk. "With all that hard work, perhaps you'll wind up in Hufflepuff."

"Absolutely disgusting!" Tim ranted. "I think I'd leave! My dad could teach me everything."

"Then again, you're very smart, so perhaps Ravenclaw is in your future."

"I know what's in _your_ future, Malfoy, if you keep talking like that. My family is just as Slytherin as yours."

"But mine goes back further."

They talked about their pets, something Harry had neglected to get in his hurried rush through Diagon Alley's shops. Draco had his eagle owl, Arlette, of whom Harry was rather fond considering the fright she'd given Aunt Petunia, and he told this story to extremely amused laughter. Blaise had a grey-and-black striped kitten she'd named Argent because his patterns made him look silvery in the right light. Pansy and Millicent had both got owls, a screech owl named Benson and a barn owl named Eccidemas respectively. Nott's familiar, a jet black tabby cat named Onyx, had been with him for years, ever since she'd wandered into his kitchen during a rainstorm. Harry struggled to keep all the names straight, knowing it was probably a futile effort.

While they talked, the train carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They continued their conversations, though Harry spent a great deal of time listening and watching. These children seemed like quite a decent lot. They were friendly, amusing, and very interesting.

Was this what it was like to be a normal boy? Harry wondered. If these were friends, then how he wished that he'd met them years ago. He too was from an old wizarding family, and surely he would have been friends with them all many years ago if Voldemort hadn't interfered.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor, and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, quickly followed by his new friends. He had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that he had pockets rattling with gold and silver he was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry. But the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen before.

"Wow," he said.

Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Right. Gang? It's time for Harry's first lesson. Everybody get something different, and get enough to share."

Before Harry could protest, the five boys and girls had liberally raided the snack trolley. He tried to pay attention as his friends began to tell him all about the various sweets.

"These are Chocolate Frogs. There's a simple spell on them to make them a bit lively. They've got about one good jump in them. After that, they're easy to catch. They taste delicious," Tim explained, demonstrating.

Sure enough, the frog leapt for the window, but it was closed. He picked it up and bit one of the legs off. "If they're still moving, it really tickles when it gets to your stomach."

Harry's stomach felt slightly queasy at the idea of eating something that was still moving, even if it was a spell.

"Every Frog comes with a card inside. They've all got different witches and wizards on them so you can collect them and trade them. I've got about a thousand, myself. I've got all of the first four series, and I'm only missing a dozen or so from the fifth."

Tim handed the card to Harry. "Dumbledore the Muggle Lover," he said with contempt. "Still, you wouldn't want to cross him."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Read the back."

The front of the card showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is what he looks like!" Harry said. He turned the card over and read:

**Albus Dumbledore**  
currently Headmaster of Hogwarts

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Tim. "He'll be back. If you want to start collecting, I've got about a hundred doubles that I haven't got rid of yet. They're all yours."

He opened up another Frog. "Sweet Merlin, I've got Agrippa!"

Pansy ooh'd and aah'd in mock amazement. "Stop the bloody presses," she jeered.

"Silence, wench," Tim said absently, studying the card intently. "I've only got one of him. They didn't print very many of him during the second series. This looks like an original. Outstanding!"

Harry was still caught up on the fact that Dumbledore had vanished from the picture.

"In the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

Draco was giving him the strangest look. "That's very odd," he said. "And extremely boring."

Blaise had opened a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"Now you want to be careful with these," she warned. "They're not joking when they say every flavour. You've got regular ones like toffee, peppermint, and chocolate, but then you can get paint, glue, and earwax."

Harry thought this was most interesting. "How do you tell?"

Everyone laughed at this question. "You don't," Blaise told him. "That's part of the risk, part of the fun."

It certainly sounded interesting, if not necessarily fun. Harry tried a few, getting strawberry, curry, coffee, toast, and honey.

"You're lucky," Blaise told him. "Most people get at least one bad one in every handful."

Sure enough, the next one Harry bit into tasted exactly like Aunt Petunia's favourite meal: liver and onions.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

"Want to hear a joke?" Draco asked them.

"Sure," Blaise said for the group.

"Hufflepuff."

Tim snickered loudly, and everyone else joined in a few seconds later as it sank in. Harry laughed with them, even though he didn't get the joke. Surely the things they'd been saying about Hufflepuff weren't actually true.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment, and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry to bother you," he said diffidently, "but have you seen a toad anywhere? Trevor keeps running away from me."

They all shook their heads. The boy, Neville, Harry remembered, sniffed a few times, trying hard not to cry. "If you see him..."

"We will," said Harry. It was hard not to feel bad for the boy. Harry didn't own a pet, but if he did, he would probably be very upset to lose it.

Neville left.

Pansy was trying hard not to laugh. "Who brings a toad?" she asked curiously. "I know they were all the fad a few years ago, but honestly."

"Elan brought a toad his first year," Draco commented.

"Yes, himself," she giggled.

"You're just saying that because you fancy him," Draco shot back.

Pansy flushed slightly. "He's handsome," she said.

"It runs in the family," he said smugly, buffing his fingernails on his sweater.

"Git."

"Hadn't you better change into your robes?" Tim said, looking out the window. "We must be nearly there."

Everyone agreed with this and began to pull off their sweaters. Harry was stunned for a moment, but Draco nudged him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just- I mean-" he stammered.

Realization dawned in Draco's eyes. "Oh! Oh, that stupid Muggle foolishness about undressing in mixed company?"

Harry nodded.

Draco sniffed. "Muggles are ever so provincial. We wizards take such things in stride. Come on then, don't be shy."

Harry was very embarrassed. It must have shown, too, because Blaise paused in the act of unbuttoning her trousers.

"Be a little more understanding, Draco. He was raised as a Muggle. There's bound to be a few problems while he adjusts. Ladies," she said, addressing Millicent and Pansy, who were also about to become indecently dressed, "let's go next door. Give Harry some privacy."

Harry flashed her a grateful smile as the three girls picked up their robes and left the compartment. He and Draco quickly stripped out of their casual clothes and donned the uniform shirt and trousers before pulling the robes on over their heads. Tim was already changed.

There was a knocking on the door, and it slid open. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"Are you stupid?" Tim asked incredulously. "We already told him we haven't seen it."

"There's no need to be rude," she said with a sniff. Then she caught sight of Harry's forehead.

"You're Harry Potter!" she exclaimed. "I know all about you, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," the girl said. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are the rest of you?"

Tim froze. "Granger? That's not a family name I know," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

"My parents are dentists. They have a practice on the outskirts of London."

"You're Muggleborn," Draco said flatly.

"Yes, I'm the first in my family to be magical. It was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course. I just hope it will be enough."

"Oh, I promise you," Tim said softly, "that it will not be enough."

She turned to look at him, missing the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"There are certain disadvantages that Mudbloods like yourself have. One of those is not knowing your place."

"Get out of here, you arrogant little Mudblood," snapped Draco. "We don't want your kind around. Muggles are cruel, stupid, and worthless wastes of oxygen."

Harry started. Where did this venom come from?

"Well really," Granger sputtered, highly indignant, and turned to flounce out of the compartment. Neville had already fled.

"_Furnunculus!_" Draco hissed, pointing his wand at her. A bunch of red sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, missing Granger entirely. She continued on as if she hadn't noticed.

"Damn!" he said. "It didn't work."

Harry stared at his friend. "Was that a curse?" he asked, unable to really say anything else.

"Hex," Draco answered. "Gives some nasty boils. Very elementary."

"Why'd you try to hex her?"

"We don't like Mudbloods," Tim declared. "They're bad news for decent, pureblooded wizards. She's just what all the rest are like: Arrogant, prissy, and entirely too full of themselves. They think they're special just because they're the first in their families to have magic. They get funny ideas, queer thoughts. It's better to put them in their place as soon as possible."

"I mean, can you believe how rude she was? 'You're Harry Potter!'" mocked Draco. "Not a care in the world for a chap's feelings. I hope we run into her again."

"Run in to whom?" asked Blaise as the three girls came back into the compartment.

"A Mudblood named Granger. Burst in here quite uninvited looking for that bloody toad, then she brings up our mate Harry's famousness without so much as a by-your-leave."

"What?" Blaise was outraged. "What sort of manners do these Muggles teach anyway?"

"Apparently not that much," answered Pansy. "I bet she was headed to a secondary modern school," she sniffed haughtily.

"Even if she went to a proper grammar school, she still wouldn't know anything about manners. I very much doubt she would have gone to finishing school." Blaise was rather critical as well.

"Nominate first order of business to be retribution for Harry," stated Pansy.

"Second," chorused Millicent and Blaise.

"Motion passes," Pansy continued, "The floor is open for suggestions as to a course of action."

"Feed her to the squid!" That was Blaise.

"Throw her off the train!" That was Millicent.

"Snap her wand to bits." That was Tim.

"This panel was not open to the idiot opinions of idiot boys," Pansy said cheerfully.

"Hang her by her feet from the top of the Astronomy Tower." That was Draco.

"Excellent. Harry?"

Harry, who had been grinning at the vast indignation on his behalf, was suddenly on the spot. True, it had been very rude of Hermione to have brought up Harry's celebrity status. He'd been made famous for living when his parents had died. Didn't she have an ounce of sensitivity? Apparently not, because she had acted very arrogant and bossy. Suddenly, Harry hoped he wasn't sorted to the same house as her.

"Bribe the Sorting Hat to send her to Hufflepuff?" he suggested diffidently. His friends had all been bashing Hufflepuff a bit, so he figured mimicking them was a safe bet.

His suggestion was greeted with riotous laughter from his five friends. Pansy wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and sat up straight. "All those in favour of Harry's suggestion say 'aye,'" she said officially.

"Aye!" chorused the six of them.

"And against?"

Silence.

"The motion passes by a vote of five in favour, none opposed, and the idiot opinions of idiot boys do not count."

"Hey!"

"Now how do we bribe the Sorting Hat?"

"Who's going to go before her in the Sorting?"

"I will," said Millicent.

"And just you," said Pansy after a moment's thought.

"Better make it good," warned Draco.

"Offer it whatever it wants," said Blaise. "We'll figure it out. There is no price too great to pay for the smiting of one's enemies."

"'Smiting'?" Draco asked incredulously. "Did you just say 'smiting'?"

"Yeah, it means to hurt them," Millicent chimed in.

"I know what it means!" he snapped.

"Aren't you going a little overboard, Blaise?" asked Harry.

"Absolutely not," she declared. "Purebloods stick together."

"Plus she's sweet on you," Pansy said, jabbing her in the side.

Blaise flushed pink. "I never said that!"

"You didn't have to, sweetie. You didn't have to," smirked Pansy.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogsmeade station in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with excitement. He looked around at his friends. They were all grinning hugely. This was it. They were almost there. Everyone packed their sweets away in their trunks, each person giving Harry a package or two.

"Here we go," said Blaise with an up-beat cast to her voice.

They joined the crowd of students thronging in the corridor. The train slowed down as the station came into view. When it finally stopped, people pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. Draco and the rest of Harry's new friends grimaced as he came into sight, but out of respect for what he'd done for Harry they said nothing. He'd told them all the story of Hagrid taking him away from the Dursleys in the hut on the rock.

"C'mon now, follow me. Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "just' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Draco were the first in their group, followed by Blaise and Pansy. Tim and Millicent were right next to them with two large boys, thickset, with rather empty expressions on their faces.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then, FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads, and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto the rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

to be continued...


	3. The Sorting Hat

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Three - The Sorting Hat**

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house into it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right. The rest of the school must have already arrived, but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the youngest Weasley boy, Ron, who had dirt on his nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair, a fruitless task.

"I shall return for you when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber and Harry swallowed hard. Why did they have to wait?

Draco had told them all about the Sorting Ceremony, so he wasn't at all nervous about that. He could hear some of the other kids speculating about what they'd have to do, but he and his friends kept quiet.

"...some sort of test..."

"...it hurts a lot..."

"...I wonder what spells I'll need..."

"...wrestle a troll..."

Harry was getting tired of waiting. He'd been waiting all this time and he wanted it to happen now. He kept his eyes fixed on the door, willing it to open and Professor McGonagall to say that they were ready. Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air. Several people behind him screamed.

"What the-?"

He gasped. So did the people near him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance."

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost. I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," came a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Harry and his friends exchanged excited glances. This was it! He followed Draco and Tim, walking next to Blaise and in front of Pansy and Millicent. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a throng facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard that prissy Granger girl whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

Show-off! thought Harry, but it was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open up to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Everyone was staring intently at the hat. For a few seconds there was complete silence, then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Hannah Abbott!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause-

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Susan Bones!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Terry Boot!"

"That's our friend Terry," Draco whispered to Harry.

Terry was a pleasant-enough-looking boy. He was a couple of inches shorter than Harry with very large brown eyes and a round face. He had close-cropped light brown hair.

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Rotten luck," whispered Tim. "I was hoping he'd be with us."

"His whole family is Ravenclaw. How surprised can you be?" asked Blaise.

"Mandy Brocklehurst!"

"Tim's girlfriend," whispered Pansy.

"Shut up!" Tim hissed.

Mandy, a short, pretty girl with big black pigtails went to Ravenclaw too, but "Lavender Brown" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see the twin Weasley brothers, Fred and George, catcalling.

"Millicent Bulstrode!"

"This is it Millie, don't muff it!" Pansy whispered to her.

Harry's heart lurched a little. Surely she wasn't _actually_ going to try to bribe the Sorting Hat? Was she?

With confidence, Millicent strode forward and sat down. She pulled the hat on and everyone waited.

Seconds ticked by as everyone waited breathlessly. Finally the tear opened up and the hat shouted out, "SLYTHERIN!"

She was smiling as she took the hat off. She nodded significantly to Pansy and went to sit with the Slytherins at the far right table.

"She did it!" exclaimed Pansy. "I don't know how she did it, but she did it! Revenge is ours!"

Harry's smile was a little weak. What had he started?

Michael Corner went to Hufflepuff, and Stephen Cornfoot was sent to Ravenclaw.

"Vincent Crabbe!" That was one of the bigger boys who had ridden in the boat with Tim and Millicent.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Kevin Entwhistle went to Ravenclaw. Justin Finch-Fletchley went to Hufflepuff. Seamus Finnigan sat on the stool almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor. Amy Geagan and Chrissy Golding were also sent to Gryffindor. Anthony Goldstein was a Hufflepuff.

"Gregory Goyle!" That was the other bigger boy.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Hermione Granger!"

The bushy-haired, buck-toothed Muggleborn almost ran up to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. Draco, Tim, and Blaise all evinced various expressions of distaste. Pansy had a very eager look on her face.

The hat was silent for awhile. Muffled words could be heard from underneath. It appeared as though she was arguing with it.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hermione pulled the hat off her head looking very unhappy. She placed it back on the stool and stomped off towards the Hufflepuff table amidst cheers from the Hufflepuffs and laughter from Harry's friends.

Wayne Hopkins was declared a Hufflepuff as well as Megan Jones, and Su Li was a Ravenclaw in short order.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Neville was so excited that he ran off still wearing the hat and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "Morag MacDougal," who became a Ravenclaw. "Ernie Macmillan" was the last boy to be Sorted to Hufflepuff.

Then it was Draco's turn. He swaggered rather nonchalantly up to the stool. He pulled the hat on, but didn't get a chance to sit down before it screamed out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco winked at Harry, waved to his friends, and went to join Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent at the Slytherin table. There weren't many people left now.

"Jenna Moon!" became the second girl Sorted to Slytherin, and Draco was shaking hands with her as she sat down.

Then it was Tim's turn and he sauntered just as casually as Draco.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Pansy Parkinson!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

A pair of twin girls, Padma and Parvati Patil were next, Padma to Ravenclaw, Parvati to Gryffindor. Sally-Anne Perks went to Hufflepuff.

"Harry Potter!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his hear. "Difficult. Very difficult."

It was to be just like choosing a wand, apparently.

"Plenty of courage, though you don't believe it. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes, and a nice thirst to prove yourself. Now that's interesting. So where shall I put you?"

Harry was thinking about the new friends he'd made, children who had opened their arms and hearts to him. They didn't treat him like some freak show the way the people in the Leaky Cauldron or the Granger bint had. They were a bit rough around the edges, but they treated Harry a sight better than anyone ever had before. He really didn't want to go to a different house from them.

"Already made friends in Slytherin I see, yes, and you want to be with your friends. You could be great, yes, and Slytherin would help you on your way. It seems to me that everything points to SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table. He noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Elan the Prefect got up and was shaking his hand vigorously. Several other boys were yelling, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

He could see the High Table clearly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who was staring at him in shock. And there, in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the bright hall that shone as bright as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

There were only four people left now. "Dean Thomas," a tall boy with warm dark brown skin went to Gryffindor. "Lisa Turpin" was a Ravenclaw, and then it was Ron Weasley's turn.

He didn't look well at all, turning green under his freckles. He staggered up to the stool, almost collapsed on top of it, and pulled the hat on. It was silent for only a few seconds before shouting out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry watched as the now white-faced boy made his way over to where his brothers sat and collapsed. They were all patting him on the back and congratulating him.

"Blaise Zabini!"

The last student left, Blaise stuck out her tongue at everyone and flounced up to the stool. It took only a second or two for the hat to yell, "SLYTHERIN!" for everyone to hear.

Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. All the sweets seemed like ages ago. He should have eaten something for lunch.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down to claps and cheers. Harry looked around at his friends. None of them were quite certain of what to make of this.

"Is he- a bit mad?" he asked Elan uncertainly.

"Oh my word, yes," Elan said. "Great wizard, mind, great wizard, but quite a bit off his rocker. Potatoes?"

Harry gasped. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table before. There was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fish, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, and much more.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat his fill. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything and began to eat the delicious fare.

He felt a chill from nearby and looked to his right to see a horribly disfigured ghost sitting one seat away. He had blank, staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood.

"Welcome, Mister Potter," the Bloody Baron said softly. "You will do quite well in Slytherin."

"Thank you," he said, not quite sure what response was called for.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later, the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice puddings, and on and on.

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to the coming school year.

"I hope you're all up to helping us hold onto the House Cup this year," Elan was saying. "Slytherin House has won the past six years. It's a matter of pride for us now."

"Six years, wow," said Millicent, clearly awed.

"So don't get caught breaking rules!" Elan admonished. "We're going to have a sort of orientation once we all get back to the dormitory to help make things easier for you."

"Millie, what did you say to the hat?" Pansy was dying to know.

Millicent smirked. "I just told it that if it would do something for me, I'd do whatever it wanted."

"And what does it want?"

"It wants to direct the school choir. I told it we'd circulate a petition to get one started."

They all laughed at that, except Millicent. "I also told it that we'd all be in it." The laughter ceased.

"What?" came Draco's outraged protest.

"It was the only way I could get it to agree," she said defensively. "Like Blaise said, there's no price too high to pay for the smiting of our enemies, and this is a pretty small sacrifice."

Draco sighed. "I guess," he said dejectedly. "But I can't sing."

"So? If we're bad, maybe we won't have to follow through."

"Hopefully."

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his large goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" he said, clapping a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Elan.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling he'd gotten from the teacher's look. He wasn't sure what it was, but the teacher seemed to already know more about Harry than just his name. The look on the man's face had been unreadable.

"Elan, who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?"

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he looks so nervous, that's Professor Snape, our Head of House. He's the Potions Master, though he wants Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Professor Snape does."

Harry watched Professor Snape for awhile, but the teacher never looked back over at him.

At last the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"More stupid words?" Draco wondered quietly to Harry.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

"I have also been asked by Mister Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of few who did. "He's not serious," he muttered to Elan.

"Must be," Elan said, frowning. "That's odd; he usually gives an explanation for new rules. He didn't even tell the prefects about this."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he were trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

The cacophony was deafening as the entire school bellowed:

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something, please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot._

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here. And now, bedtime! Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years followed Elan through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down the marble staircase, down the stairs that led to the dungeons. They turned left and right through the labyrinthine passages. Elan stopped partway along a hallway with a carved stone column at the corner

"The password is _Gryffindors hi bardum_."

"Gryffindors are stupid," giggled Jenna.

"Isn't the house rivalry starting a little early?" grinned Draco.

"Who cares? It's funny."

A stone door concealed in the wall recessed and slid to the side. The first years poured through, eager to see their new home.

The common room was in the shape of an elongated rectangle. It was an underground-style room, with steps that led down to the recessed floor, carpeted in a rich green with silver designs. The walls and ceiling were rough-hewn stone. Lamps hung on chains from the ceiling, giving off a cosy greenish light. A fire was crackling cheerfully under an elaborately carved mantelpiece in the centre of the long wall. Beanbag chairs were scattered before the fire grate. Several high-backed chairs surrounded each of the tables that were evenly distributed throughout the room. There were two corridors at the far end of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls. It was a very pleasant sort of place.

"Dormitories are down those corridors," Elan said, pointing towards the far end of the room. "Boys on the right and girls on the left. First years are at the end of the corridor this year."

The corridor made a right-hand turn a few steps in, and they followed it to the end. They passed six heavy wooden doors on their left before they saw a bronze plaque reading 'First Years' prominent on the last door. They pushed it open to find their beds at last.

Five four-poster beds were hung with velvet curtains of deep verdant green. At the foot of each bed was a school trunk. Each boy also had a chair and a writing desk. A silver and green scarf and tie was hung over the back of each chair.

Each of the beds was positioned with the headboard against the near wall. In the opposite wall was a large picture window, giving a beautiful view of the night sky above and the black glass lake below.

"Not bad," breathed Harry.

"I'll say, look at that view," echoed Draco.

"Good thing we have curtains, I wouldn't want the sun to strike me first thing." Tim was yawning.

"How can we have a view if we're underground?" Goyle asked.

"Must be the exterior of the cliff face," Tim theorized.

Too tired to talk overlong, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed. Harry dropped off to sleep almost immediately. He was happy and well-fed and very, very tired. He slept soundly the whole night through.

to be continued...


	4. Settling In

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Four - Settling In**

Morning came very quickly for the tired first years, but the anticipation of attending their first classes quickly burned away any sleepiness. Elan came into their room first thing and awoke them all.

"Orientation meeting in fifteen minutes," he said.

They quickly rose and pulled on slippers and dressing gowns before filing into the common room where Elan and the other prefects were waiting.

Harry sat down in one of the beanbag chairs near the fireplace because he was slightly cold. He was quickly joined by Blaise, Draco, Pansy, and Tim. Millicent pulled over a high-backed chair, which he could now see was amply padded. Crabbe and Goyle leaned against the wall, trying hard not to yawn. Jenna Moon, not quite as well acquainted with their little group, stood slightly apart from everyone else.

"Most of you know me, my name is Elan Octavio Malfoy. I'm a fifth year prefect and this is our orientation meeting. I'd like to introduce Abraham Montague, one of our sixth year prefects. Abraham?"

A dark-haired boy stood up from the group seated at the table. "Good morning. I must apologize for making you all get out of bed at such an ungodly hour, but you were so tired last night we decided to postpone until this morning.

"There are certain things you all need to know if you're going to succeed here in Slytherin House. It's our job as prefects to make sure you know those things. Now then, since the sixth years don't have O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s to study for, we are the ones who are put in charge of you first years, making sure that you don't get lost, hurt, or otherwise in trouble. Basically we have to look out for you."

"We?" Blaise asked.

Abraham smiled at her. "I was just about to introduce my counterpart, the lovely Jessica Conejo. Jess, stand up."

A pretty Spanish girl with mounds of curly black ringlets rose gracefully to her feet. "Good morning. Even though it's we sixth years who are in charge of you, you can come to any of us prefects with questions or concerns.

"This is Peter von Erickson," she said, pointing to a tall, well-muscled boy, "and Molly Archer, the seventh years." A pretty blonde girl who was wearing too much make-up smiled and waved at them. "Elan, of course," the elder Malfoy rose to his feet and took a deep bow, "and Jamie Zabini, whom most of you already know, representing the fifth years." Blaise's older sister, a short girl with very chic blonde hair also stood up, though she dropped a graceful curtsy rather than bowing.

Abraham cleared his throat. "The most important thing I can say to you is that Slytherins stick together. We can show the outside world no crack in our armour, no gap in our defences. We must have complete solidarity. This means that you support your fellow Slytherins, no matter what. Take up your personal problems in private, preferably here in the Lair, where no unfriendly ears can overhear."

Jessica continued that line of thought. "Solidarity is our best defence. The other houses, most notably Gryffindor, hate us. We have a half-ally in Ravenclaw House, but we can truly depend only on ourselves."

"Now then, here are the ground rules of Slytherin House," said Abraham. "One: Never take the blame for anything.

"Two: To avoid taking blame, never get caught.

"Three: If you do get caught, deny everything and blame someone else.

"Four: No member of Slytherin House is to maltreat another in any way at all _if_ there's anybody from another house watching.

"Five: Blood does matter. Ability matters more.

"Six: There is no- Rule Six.

"Seven: Slytherin does not mean junior Death Eater.

"Now then-"

"You left out Rule Eight: Loyalty is not just for Hufflepuffs," Jessica interrupted him.

"Oops," Abraham said, slightly embarrassed. "You're going to do fine, I know it," he assured them. "If you have problems with classwork, you can come see your prefects, preferably us sixth years, though if we're not around, any of the others will gladly help you out."

Jessica grinned at them. "If you have problems with other students, as is bound to happen, we'll be glad to help you out. We won't fight your battles for you, so you're going to have to take care of the problem yourself, but we'll give you all the advice you could want." Harry noticed that Jessica had a very nice smile.

"Don't worry about getting lost during your first week. We," said Abraham, indicating himself and Jessica, "will be here in the common room every morning to provide directions. And to top it all, we'll actually take you to your first lesson of each class."

"I think that covers the basics, doesn't it Peter?" asked Jessica, turning to face the other prefects at their table.

"It does," Peter replied, nodding his head. "It's getting time for breakfast. Why don't you all have a shower and be back here in thirty minutes? We'll guide you back up to the Great Hall."

Feeling very reassured about everything, Harry went to get his bath things. So far, being in Slytherin was pretty great.

"Nice to know they're looking out for us," he commented to Tim as they trudged down the hall to the bathroom.

"Solidarity, Harry, solidarity. It's what makes our house strong. A house divided cannot stand."

"That's pretty profound for oh-seven-thirty," Draco snickered.

"I'll oh-seven-thirty my foot on your bum," Tim threatened.

Draco clapped his hands to his cheeks and made a quavering, wibbling sound. "Oh no, anything but that!" he mocked.

"Guys, not before breakfast," Harry sighed, pushing the bathroom door open. He stopped in his tracks.

"Wow," he breathed.

The bathroom was an impressive sight. The floor was tiled with a pattern of silver and green, the Slytherin House colours. The long row of sinks mounted on the near wall had bright silver handles. The shower stalls that lined the far wall had highly decorated curtains with beautiful mythological scenes. A door immediately ahead read 'WC' on it.

"Pretty impressive," said Draco, looking around.

Crabbe grunted and shuffled towards the showers.

The water was instantly warm, just the temperature Harry liked. He concluded it must have a spell on it, and he said as much to his friends.

"Some parents made a big investment about three years ago," Draco told him, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the showers, "protesting that it wasn't fair for us to have such miserable dungeon conditions. So we get the nicest bathroom, aside from the prefects' bathroom, of course, with very specific charms on each shower to adjust the water to the proper temperature. The shampoo and conditioner never run out. And I believe there's also a way to turn the shower stall into a proper bathtub."

"Neat," Harry said, echoed by Tim.

With towels wrapped around their waists and pyjamas in hand, the boys straggled back to their room at their own pace. Pulling on a brand new uniform and robes, Harry felt excitement starting to build again.

Back in the common room, they were joined by Millicent, Blaise, and Jenna, and they once again relaxed in the beanbag chairs while they all waited for Pansy to come out. Tim couldn't relax and kept popping up to pace nervously.

"I'm hungry!" he finally burst out.

"So what else is new?" called Pansy's mocking voice. She stepped out of the girls' corridor and smirked at Tim.

"Your smart mouth, girl-"

"Enough," Jessica said sternly. "We're about to go out and face the rest of the school. The time for bickering is over. Now we are all united."

She led them back through the maze of dungeon tunnels. Harry was awake enough now to understand that they were walking in a very big almost-circle. He chose not to say anything, though, as it seemed to be the shortest route.

Finally they came up the stone steps and into the castle proper. Then up some marble stairs and they were back in the Great Hall. There were already many students eating, and the Slytherin first years wasted no time in finding seats and filling their plates.

Harry helped himself to perhaps the best cooked breakfast he'd ever enjoyed. The little fried tomatoes were scrumptious. He piled on the eggs while everyone dug deep into the serving platters.

"Breakfast," Elan said around a mouthful of food, "It's the most important meal of the day."

"Jess, has Professor Snape given you the schedules yet?" Abraham asked, between forkfuls.

She nodded. "I'll take care of the first years if you want to get the others."

"Sounds good."

Jessica handed Harry his schedule, and he stopped eating to study it. It was written in a very neat script, something Harry had yet to master with the quill.

"Herbology first thing with Ravenclaw," Tim said.

Pansy swallowed a bite of toast. "Aww, Ickle Timmikins can see his girlfriend Mandy," she teased.

Tim growled at her. "I'm going to throw you off the top of the Astronomy Tower," he promised.

She fluttered her eyelashes. "Ooh, you want to take _me_ up to the Astronomy Tower?" They'd heard last night from some second years that older students sometimes had romantic escapades up at the top of the Astronomy Tower, under the stars.

Tim concentrated on eating his eggs and toast, obviously giving up on trying to get the last word in for this argument.

"After Herbology we have History of Magic with Hufflepuff," Draco said, looking closely at the schedule. He grimaced. "There's Mudbloods in Hufflepuff. After lunch is Charms, then Transfiguration. Blimey, they lay it on thick the first day."

Harry finished his breakfast and drank the last of his milk. Everyone else was finishing as well.

"Herbology is very easy to get to," Abraham said. "Follow me."

Jessica brought up the rear as Abraham led them out of the Great Hall and through the corridors to a large set of double doors. They stepped out into the open light and saw a number of large greenhouses.

"You're in Greenhouse One, which is just ahead there. We'll be along to escort you to History of Magic. Have fun and do the house proud."

Herbology, taught by a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, was a very interesting class. Harry had done his best to remember things from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi as it was relevant to two subjects, so he understood most of the Professor's lecture. The greenhouse made for an interesting classroom since it was filled with live specimens.

Abraham and Jessica met them at the double doors which led back into the castle. "Well my lads and ladies, what did you think?" he asked them. "Did you like Herbology?"

"It was interesting," said Harry.

"Boring," yawned Crabbe.

"Yeah," yawned Goyle.

"Nah, it was pretty cool," disagreed Tim.

"Not too bad," said Millicent.

"I'm going to hate it," said Blaise. "I quite abhor dirt."

"'Abhor'? What did you have for breakfast, a dictionary?" Draco asked her.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I'm going to poison Tim as soon as Professor Sprout shows us which plant is nightshade," Pansy said cheerfully.

"I'm going to throw Pansy off the top of the Astronomy Tower after our lesson," he replied just as cheerfully.

"Ah, the love. You can cut it with a knife," Jessica smiled.

"This way to History of Magic," Abraham said as he led the way.

Harry's excitement after reading the text over the summer was dashed. History of Magic was the most boring class alive. Except that it wasn't alive; in fact, it was quite dead. Professor Binns was a ghost. He had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Crabbe and Goyle took the opportunity to go back to sleep.

Harry struggled to keep his eyes open. This was certainly not what he'd had in mind when Hagrid had told him he was a wizard. The only person who was taking an active interest in the lecture was Hermione Granger. Everyone else was slouched back in their chairs, barely awake, but the Muggleborn witch was perched at the edge of her seat, scratching her quill furiously, seemingly determined not to miss a single thing.

She appeared to be hard at work, just like a good Hufflepuff. Draco caught Harry's attention and tipped his head in Granger's direction while rolling his eyes and making a funny face. Harry smothered a snort of laughter and wrote down 'Lester the Unlikely' in his notes.

Abraham and Jessica met them outside the classroom and didn't bother to ask how the lesson had gone. Apparently their tired faces were testament enough. As he followed along back towards the Great Hall, Harry was looking forward to lunch. Some food would be just the thing to perk him back up.

That was when he noticed the whispers.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the short kid with the blond hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

People lining up outside classrooms had stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't; it was embarrassing. People in the Great Hall craned their necks to peer over at the Slytherin table. He made certain to take a seat facing the wall.

After lunch, Jessica led them to the Charms corridor. Professor Flitwick turned out to be a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. They spent the class learning the proper way to hold a wand for charmwork.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone caught fooling around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized that they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, Millicent had managed to get the end of her match to become pointy, and Tim had managed to turn it into silver, but none of the rest had any luck.

After their last class, the first year Slytherins all returned to the Serpents' Lair to drop off their belongings. It was only half past four though, and dinner was two hours away. Harry had decided he was going to do some more reading, but quickly changed his mind when Draco invited him to play Exploding Snap.

The game was simple enough, but the risk of getting burned lent it a rather keen edge. Crabbe and Goyle, both of them being clumsy and awkward, took far more than their fair share of burns. Millicent was the only one who escaped injury, and Harry was nursing sore fingers on the way upstairs to the Great Hall.

The girls had made a detour to the lavatory, so the boys were on their own as they came out from the stone walls of the dungeon into the marble-lined magnificence that was the front entryway.

A group of Gryffindor first years coming down the marble stairs cut them off. In the process, Ron Weasley stepped on Draco's foot. He continued on, chattering away at the round-faced Neville Longbottom. Draco stopped dead in his tracks and stared after him in amazement.

"That git just stepped on my foot."

All of the other Slytherins stopped.

"Which git was that?" asked Tim.

"His name's Ron Weasley," Harry said, glad to be able to answer.

"Weasley." Tim let the word roll around in his mouth. He managed to make it sound quite distasteful.

"I know the name," Draco said shortly. "Hey, Weasel!" he sneered in Ron's direction.

Ron stopped and looked over his shoulder. Neville and the other two boys stopped to wait for him.

"That's right, I'm talking to you, Weasel," Draco drawled insultingly.

"Who are you?" Ron's face was blank. He flicked his gaze to Harry briefly, snapped his eyes up to the scar on Harry's forehead, and brought his focus back to Draco.

Draco stepped closer, and Crabbe and Goyle moved up to flank him, standing a short distance behind. They looked like bodyguards, with seriously unfriendly expressions on their faces.

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," Draco said, drawling his words once more. "This is Crabbe," he said gesturing left with his head, "and this is Goyle," he continued, gesturing right, flipping his hair around.

"Draco Malfoy?" Ron asked, trying to suppress a snigger.

"Think my name's funny, do you? Note that I had no need to ask your name. My father told me that the Weasley Clan has red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford," he sneered.

Ron's face was turning red. "Shut up, Malfoy!"

"You stepped on my foot. I want you to apologize to me."

"He'll do no such thing," the Black boy, Dean Thomas, said hotly.

"I'm asking for a simple courtesy," Draco said, making it sound only polite. "Any decent wizard would do it."

Ron was obviously sizing up Crabbe and Goyle. His eyes flicked back to Harry briefly, then flicked to Tim, and back to Draco. He threw a quick look back over his shoulder at Thomas and Finnigan. He glanced sideways at Neville. Harry knew he was trying to decide if they could beat the odds.

Evidently he didn't think so, because he gave a hard swallow. "Sorry I stepped on your foot, Malfoy. Maybe if you didn't _slyther_ underfoot, you wouldn't get stepped on."

"And maybe if you'd watch where you placed those canoes you call shoes, then maybe-" Draco broke off, staring at Ron's feet. "You're wearing Muggle trainers and then not even getting robes that cover them up? You _are_ a poor excuse for a wizard."

Ron took a deep breath. "Any time you want to find out how much of a wizard I am is fine with me, Malfoy."

He turned his back and walked into the Great Hall, trailed by his friends.

"Was that strictly necessary?" Harry asked, feeling a bit sympathetic. Ron's mother had been quite nice to him at the train station, helping him get onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, after all.

"Some wizarding families are better than others, Harry. Weasleys actually like Muggles. They like all the atrocious things that Muggles do to each other. They forget the awful things the Muggles have done to us. Well we don't forget." His tone was sombre. "Fascinated with their primitive culture and their primitive science. Turned their backs on the wizarding world, they have. It's a wonder their blood hasn't been diluted to nothing by now."

"You sound rather elitist," Harry said. He'd been taught in Muggle school that people were equal.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "But of course we are. Even the Muggles still have their royals around. Royalty is the most stable form of rule, the form that best serves the people. With one person to issue orders, things get done, and there's no silly obstacles like politicking, or running for re-election. There's plenty of that codswallop every time the Minister of Magic is up for office."

"But look at what happened to most Muggle Royalties," Harry said. "Revolutions!"

"Further proof," Draco crowed, "that Muggles are uncivilized. Muggle Royals often took only the privileges of their rank and station, but not the responsibilities. Their children grew up spoiled brats. That's why they were overthrown. A child, properly raised and taught responsibility and common decency, can grow up to be a wise and benevolent ruler."

"He's not telling you that our Royal Theory also includes elected officials to a Parliament which reflects the will of the people," Tim interjected.

"You have a whole theory about this?" Harry was amused.

"It was a project our tutor assigned us," Tim answered.

"Us?"

"Myself, Draco, Pansy, Millie, and Blaise. And a few others, of course, but yeah."

"You all had the same tutor?"

"Tim's father. He taught us all about magical theory and philosophy," Draco said. "Sometimes he would bring guests to speak with us. He didn't want us to be limited to one viewpoint. Our parents wanted us to be able to think, not to just follow blindly."

"Yeah, well stop pontificating and blindly follow yourself into that Hall. You're in the way," Blaise said, as she led the girls up the stairs. Pansy elbowed Tim out of the way, even though he really wasn't in it.

"Stop what?" Draco asked, confused.

"Pontificating. It means 'Malfoy is a stuck-up git'," she smirked at him.

"Hey!"

"Come on, dinner is waiting," Pansy said as she shoved Tim towards the doors.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair, though not quite with the grandeur of the Welcoming Feast. Some of Harry's favourite foods were on the menu, and he was hungry.

As Draco began relating the Weasley Incident, as he called it, to Blaise and Millicent (Pansy and Tim were bickering again), Harry thought about his day.

With four classes behind him, Harry thought that Transfiguration seemed to be the most difficult. He was feeling pretty uneasy about it, for Professor McGonagall seemed a very demanding taskmistress and wasn't likely inclined to mercy.

Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, rather seemed to like him, and Harry figured he would do quite well in Charms. It had certainly been embarrassing when the diminutive professor tumbled off his stack of books, but the class was interesting.

Just as interesting, in its own way, was Herbology. He'd already learned that wolfsbane was also called monkshood. Professor Sprout had mentioned, as he'd remembered from his reading, that it was a deadly poison.

History of Magic seemed to be the worst of the lot. It appeared to be good for nothing other than forty winks. How he was supposed to stay awake through the monotony of it, he didn't know. At least he wasn't alone in that feeling.

"Binnsy'll bore you to tears," Abraham was saying. "He's never going to learn your names, so don't get offended. And he might call you by your father's name. You get used to him."

"But the material," Blaise despaired, "it's so bloody boring."

"That's why you sleep in class and read your book later. You also do other reading, to get the real picture. If you can make it more than just one endless 'and then,' History of Magic is pretty interesting."

"How can you lie to them like that, Abraham?" Jessica asked. "You are the only person in this school who enjoys History."

"I like studying history. History is interesting."

"I prefer to _make_ history," she said, tossing her head, sending her dark curls flipping back over her shoulder.

"Anyways," Abraham continued, "if you apply yourself and don't let it become 'that dreadfully boring history stuff,' then you can bear through it easily. And you might even learn a thing or two."

"So Harry, what was your first day like?" Jessica asked him curiously.

"It was all wonderful," he said, meaning it. Even the boring parts of his day had been worlds better than the best day on Privet Drive.

"I can't believe I've missed out on so much. I can't even imagine going back to living like a Muggle."

"His blood is singing to him," Draco said proudly.

"Well I'm glad you're back among wizards, Harry, where you truly belong." Jessica smiled at him.

After dinner, the Slytherins went their separate ways, some of them back to their common room, some of them to the library, and others departed for places unknown. The first years had other plans.

Everyone had been eagerly waiting to practice their hexes; they'd had no free time so far. They were all looking forward to tomorrow, because after Astronomy they had Defence Against the Dark Arts, and they all wanted to be prepared for anything.

Blaise led them to an empty room that she had found earlier in the day. She'd come prepared, lugging her book bag up to dinner, knowing it would be needed.

"Excellent find, Blaise," Tim congratulated her.

"The History of Magic classroom is just next door," she said. "I think this is some kind of storage room, except with nothing stored in it."

"It's perfect for us," Pansy said, agreeing, for once, with Tim. "Until we find more places, that is. I'm sure the dungeons are full of rooms. Now we can all practice together."

"Crabbe, you'll be our first test victim," Draco declared.

Crabbe looked uneasy. "I dunno, Draco, I don't think I want to."

Draco's jaw dropped. "Am I going mad, or did the word 'think' just escape your lips?"

Crabbe had no answer, so he nodded vaguely.

"Get up there and stand still," Draco ordered. "There's not much we can do to permanently damage you anyway."

Crabbe, still looking mighty nervous, stepped about five metres away and turned around. "You do know all the counters, right?"

"Not really, no," Draco said breezily, as he pointed his wand. "_Furnunculus!_" he said.

Red sparks spat from the end of his wand, just like when he had tried to hex Hermione Granger on the train.

"Bloody hell," he cursed. "I am saying it right, aren't I?"

"Furunculus," Pansy said, sounding it out phonetically.

"_Furnunculus!_"

"You're adding an extra 'n'," Millicent said, frowning as she listened to him. "Fur-un, not Fur-nun. Fur-nun sounds like something weird having to do with the C of E."

"_Furunculus!_" A jet of red light with a white core flashed from the tip of Draco's wand, striking Crabbe in the chest.

"Ah!" he yelled. "That hurts!"

Harry clapped his hands a few times, impressed. Draco looked up the counterhex and cast it, giving Crabbe relief from the pain.

"Your turn, Harry," Draco invited him, gesturing with a sweeping arm.

Well, here it was, his first attempt to do an actual spell. But it was with his friends, and Draco had gone first and failed. He could do this, and even if he couldn't, his friends would still be his friends.

"_Furunculus!_" He wasn't sure why he picked the same hex, but it worked fabulously. A jet of that red-white light shot out from his wand, striking Crabbe in the face.

"Ah!" he shouted, clutching at his face. "Pick something else, will you?"

"Way to go, Harry!" Blaise congratulated him. "Told you, you're a natural."

"The counter?" Millicent said, looking at the suffering Crabbe.

Harry pointed his wand and spoke the counterhex, causing the boils to fade from Crabbe's face. The bigger boy was whimpering slightly.

"My turn!" Blaise said, jumping to the front.

"What about me?" Tim asked.

"Idiot boys get to go last," Pansy said, sticking out her tongue at him.

"I'll go last, but only if I get to hex you," he said, looking at her in a challenging manner.

She scoffed at him. "Since I know you're too stupid to actually cast the hex, I agree. But only if I get to hex you back."

Tim's voice went very high and prissy. "Oh, she wants a proper duel does she? Well, we must all bend our knee to the crown," he mocked her.

"I'm looking for the nightshade," she reminded him.

"You wouldn't know the difference between nightshade and a night watchman," he scoffed back at her.

"Do it now," begged Crabbe. "No more hexes at me!"

"Shut up, Crabbe," Pansy snapped.

"Shut it, fathead!" Tim snapped at the same time.

"Hey!" Crabbe protested. "My head's not fat!"

"_Furunculus!_" Blaise said, ignoring the squabbling pair, sending the hex flying at Crabbe, who shrieked like a four year-old girl with a skinned knee.

Millicent took pity on him though, sending her hex at Goyle, who was a bundle of nerves from watching Crabbe. Jenna decided to pity Crabbe as well and also hexed Goyle.

Pansy and Tim had squared off, wands at the ready. "One, two, three," Draco drawled, clearly bored by their antics.

"_Furunculus!_" Tim shouted, sending the jet of light towards her.

She threw herself to the floor, dodging the hex. With the elasticity of youth, she bounced right back up.

"_Furunculus!_" she cried, but her aim was off, and the hex sailed over his shoulder.

"_Rictusempra!_" he yelled, sending a jet of silver light at her, striking her in the chest.

Pansy began to shriek with giggles, and she dropped her wand, clutching her sides.

"Not! Fair!" she managed to say between giggles.

"Nice Tickling Charm," Millicent said admiringly.

"I picked it up at Malfoy Manor this summer."

"Father said it was a harmless spell that could be put to very effective use by a creative mind." Draco was proud.

"I think I win this round," Tim said, holding up Pansy's wand.

"You're really evil, you know," Blaise told him. "You know how ticklish she is."

Tim bowed mockingly to her. "Why do you think I used that specific charm? Strategy, Blaise, strategy."

"You should do the counter."

"I didn't learn the counter," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Draco, you know the counter for the Tickling Charm?"

"Nope."

"You mean we just have to wait for it to wear off?" Millicent was astounded.

"Unless she can look it up and cast it herself." Tim was unapologetic.

"Tim!" Millicent was obviously trying hard not to laugh. Jenna was failing miserably at that task for her part.

Blaise was leafing through the book. "Here it is," she said, and spoke the words. Pansy collapsed into an exhausted heap, still giggling, having quite lost control of herself. Slowly, her giggles began to fade away.

They continued to practice their hexes and curses until just before curfew. Then they gathered up their things, took the last curse off of Goyle, and hustled for the safety of the dungeons.

Harry was feeling very satisfied. With a little work, he'd managed to cast all but two of the spells he'd tried. He'd done better than Jenna, who had only managed two spells. He was very excited about Defence Against the Dark Arts and wondered how he was going to get any sleep.

They got inside their common room just as the bell tolled curfew. Now, only prefects and teachers were allowed to be outside of the dormitories. And the ghosts, of course. The ghosts still unnerved him. Watching them float right through walls was enough to make his bones shiver.

Harry was very tired and sought his bed. The others agreed with him. By the time he had changed into his pyjamas and laid down, his eyelids were very heavy indeed. He struggled to stay awake and participate in the conversation that Draco and Tim were having, but when the first thing he said was interrupted by a huge yawn, he gave it up and was asleep before he could hear the others wish him pleasant dreams.

to be continued...


	5. The Potions Master

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Five - The Potions Master**

Harry and his friends were awake bright and early, the first in the House to rise. They showered quickly before hurrying up to breakfast, eager to get the day started. Breakfast this morning was waffles, and Harry devoured a stack in short order.

Today the first years would once again be guided by their prefects, as they still didn't know the way to some of their classes. Their first lesson was Astronomy, which promised to be interesting, but it was Defence Against the Dark Arts that everyone was really excited about.

Jessica led them on the amazingly complex route up to the Astronomy Tower. The way involved ducking through two secret passages, doubling back once, and going out onto a walkway along the parapet before coming into the Tower proper. Harry did his best to take note of landmarks.

A professor with shoulder-length black hair was waiting for them. She was sitting at her desk and drinking coffee from her mug, which read 'Star Teacher' and had a silly-looking cartoon star-person on it. She waved the first years in as they climbed the staircase that opened up into the room. According to the clock, there were several minutes before the lecture began, and the professor showed no signs of starting early. Once they were all in the room, she had laid her head down on her arms and closed her eyes.

The Slytherins deposited their books at the desks and explored the room. The room took up the whole floor. The wall was rounded, one contiguous curve, and covered with huge star charts. There were no windows, so the room felt very dark. The lantern on the ceiling had been cunningly disguised as the sun.

Inspirational posters were scattered in the blank spaces on the wall. 'Reach For The Stars' read one. 'The Sky's The Limit' read another. 'Shoot For The Moon' said a third, with smaller print underneath reading, 'If You Miss, You'll Land Among The Stars'. Harry groaned because the puns were just so pathetic. Jenna was giggling.

The bell rang, and the professor raised her head and yawned. "My name is Professor Sinistra, and I will not bid you good morning, as I am a night owl. I have no idea why they asked me to teach at this ungodly hour."

The lesson was interesting. Professor Sinistra gave an overview of the course before she began lecturing about the major star constellations. They would be learning the names of the different stars and the movements of the planets. They would be required to study the night skies through their telescopes every Thursday night.

Professor Sinistra did not stand still during her lecture. She wandered all over the room, drinking from her coffee mug, which she refilled from her Thermos every time she passed her desk. She made great use of the star charts on the walls, pointing with a wooden metre-stick.

When the lesson was over, Abraham led them back into the castle via a shorter route to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. He asked them about the lesson as they walked. Harry was walking right next to him and happened to glance up.

"Is that lipstick?" he asked, interrupting Pansy, who was raving about the Astronomy lesson.

Abraham blushed. "Maybe. But it's not mine, Harry, so it's all right."

The girls giggled; the boys looked slightly nauseated.

"Here we are," he said, stopping at a door. "Have fun."

As they waited for Professor Quirrell to arrive, they speculated on whether they'd be casting spells right away. Harry was hoping for the Leg-Locker Curse, while Draco favoured the Full-Body Bind. Tim maintained that the Bind was much too advanced for beginners. He pointed out that Draco had failed miserably at casting it last night. Draco sputtered a protest, but Tim stuck his nose into the text, ignoring them all.

Pansy, for once, didn't have a smart-mouthed comment. She, Blaise, and Jenna were still too busy giggling at the lipstick Abraham had smudged on his face to pay the boys any mind.

Millicent turned to Harry and rolled her eyes. "Those two are so girlish. They're forever on about robes and fashion and make-up. I couldn't care less. Give me an old set of comfortable robes, and I'm happy."

"G-good a-a-aftern-noon, S-s-s-slytherin first years," Professor Quirrell stammered, opening the door for them. They took their seats, thrilled to be actually starting "the good stuff", as Tim put it.

Professor Quirrell's class turned out to be a bad joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic. (They heard later on that the garlic was to ward off a Romanian vampire that the professor was afraid would track him down.) His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed him. Millicent asked to hear the story, but he stammered something about it not being very interesting and began babbling about the atrocities Dark wizards had caused over the ages. His turban also had a funny smell about it, and Jenna insisted that it too was stuffed with garlic, leaving them all in stitches as soon as they got out of earshot of the classroom.

After lunch they had another Charms class, and Professor Flitwick awarded five points to Slytherin when Harry was able to correctly demonstrate how to hold his wand for casting charms.

That was their last class of the day, so they decided to relax before dinner, to save the studying for that evening. Harry joined in a game of Exploding Snap, managing not to burn himself at all. Tim cut out of the game early to read some more from the Potions text, and Harry was considering doing the same when Jessica and Abraham came by to ask about their second day. Harry definitely appreciated that they were so diligent to their duties. He liked that Slytherin House looked after their own.

Dinner was uneventful, but a surprise awaited them back in the common room. Professor Snape was seated in a chair by the fire talking with Peter von Erickson and Molly Archer, the seventh year prefects. They ceased their conversation immediately when the first years came down the stairs.

"Excellent, they're all here," Peter said, counting noses.

"First years, in case you don't know, this is Professor Snape. He is Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master." Molly's introduction fairly rang with her regard for the man.

"Thank you, Miss Archer," said Professor Snape, his voice quiet. He rose to his feet.

"First years, I welcome you to Slytherin House. I hope by now you've settled in, made yourselves comfortable. I hope you're learning to trust in your prefects. They are here to help you, as am I. If you have a problem you feel is too serious, too big for the prefects to handle, I hope you'll come to me with it. My door is always open to you, and I will always help you."

Professor Snape's voice was not passionate, but his tone was very serious. No one could doubt that he meant what he was saying.

"I know you've been informed of the unofficial rules of Slytherin House. I trust you'll follow them. We encourage you to think here, and to make informed decisions. Please insure that you have a good reason for doing the things that you do. Those who act without thinking will suffer the full brunt of my sarcastic wrath. Those who embarrass Slytherin House will suffer a fate worse than death. Those who embarrass me personally will be tied to a chair and forced to watch Muggle religious television."

Harry, who had actually seen Muggle religious television, tried to suppress a snigger of amusement. What a horrible threat!

Snape's eyes flashed to Harry's face. They seemed to burn directly into his soul.

"Something funny, Mister Potter?" There was absolutely no love in that tone of voice.

"No, sir," Harry said quickly. "It's just that I've seen Muggle religious programmes on the telly before. That's an awful thing to threaten someone with, sir."

Snape's eyes continued to burn into his skull.

"That's all I have for now. I encourage you all to be a credit to Slytherin House. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning. Good night."

"Good night, sir!" they chorused as Snape rose and left the room.

"Well, that was interesting," Harry said once the first years had all sat down near the fireplace.

"He certainly seemed to dislike you, Harry," Blaise said, her voice puzzled.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"When do we have Flying Class?" Millicent asked, changing the subject. "I want to get on a broom again."

"They haven't said yet," Tim replied, and the conversation drifted to flying, brooms, and Quidditch.

Harry listened for a time, but pulled out his Potions text when Pansy and Tim got into a row about a match last season in which the Holyhead Harpies lost to the Pride of Portree. He couldn't focus on the book, however. His mind kept drifting back to the wonderful changes that had come into his life. It was very overwhelming if one actually thought about it, but Harry wouldn't trade a lick of it away.

But by Jove, the castle was immense!

Getting from class to class was almost straight out of a nightmare. Between staircases, doors, and the paintings, no landmark could be trusted. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were the doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also hard to remember where anything was because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armour could walk.

As if getting lost on their own wasn't a big enough problem, there was also Peeves the Poltergeist. Abraham and Jessica had warned them all that Peeves was absolutely not to be trusted. He gave out bad directions to students who were running late to class. Terry Boot had confirmed that, passing the word that he'd run into two locked doors and a trick staircase yesterday afternoon following Peeves' directions. Peeves would also drop waste paper baskets on people's heads, pull rugs from under their feet, throw bits of chalk, and pelt people with water balloons. Thankfully Peeves was very afraid of the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's resident ghost, and tended to leave the Slytherins alone.

But no ghostly influence would intercede for them when it came to the caretaker, Argus Filch. He seemed to delight in catching students out of bounds, and rumour had it he'd threatened to hang Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom up by their thumbs in the dungeons. Apparently they'd got lost and had been trying to force the locked door that led to the out-of-bounds third floor corridor when Filch caught them.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good solid kick.

The hour grew late, and Harry eventually got some studying done. All the first years knew that in the morning they would have Double Potions together with Gryffindor House. The rivalry between the houses was such that Draco and Blaise had mandated being extremely well-prepared for lecture. Jessica and Abraham had warned them that Professor Snape loved to ask questions, and you didn't want to get a question wrong in front of the enemy.

Harry had done extremely well to date, so far as he could see. With the help and encouragement of his friends, he'd already cast a number of spells. Several of those spells had come from chapters in the books that they wouldn't get to in class for weeks. That he took to magic like a fish to water was a bit alarming, but Hagrid had said that his Mum and Dad had been very magical. They'd been Head Boy and Girl, after all, and that meant great talent. Magic was in his blood.

The hour grew later still, and Draco was yawning wide enough for Blaise, who was sitting next to him, to fall in. Draco shut his book with a thud and got to his feet.

"That's enough. I'm going to bed. If he asks me what aconite is good for, I'll just make something up."

"It's considered deadly poison," Harry said, trying to restrain a yawn himself.

"Yes, because too many peasants tried to become doctors and killed a bunch of folk a long time ago." Tim's voice was smug. He knew more about herbs and their properties than any of them.

"I don't care," Draco said, walking towards their room. "I'll tell him to ask Tim or Harry." He yawned again, loudly.

They all looked at each other, each trying to hold it back. Then Millicent could suppress it no longer and yawned, stretching to the ceiling. Nothing else would do but for the rest of them to break as well. Yawning is contagious, after all.

"Bed," Harry agreed, gathering his things.

Worn out by his second full day filled with magic, Harry was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Friday morning came soon enough, and everyone hurried through their morning shower. They rushed upstairs to the Great Hall and ate as quickly as polite manners would allow. They did not speak, not wanting to take valuable time away from chewing. They intended to be ready and waiting for the Gryffindors. It seemed almost sadistic, letting the two houses antagonize each other all through the week and finally putting them together on Friday morning, ruining the weekend for whoever came off worse in the confrontation.

Harry was just spooning the last of his porridge into his mouth when a bit of folded parchment dropped into his bowl. He looked up to see one of the school owls winging away. He swallowed his mouthful and unfolded the note. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

__

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with a school owl.

Hagrid

Concerned with getting to Potions on time, Harry stuffed the note into his schoolbag. Across the table, Tim was frantically flipping the pages of _Magical Draughts and Potions_, looking for something. Everyone else was wiping their mouths or picking up schoolbags.

"Time to shine," Blaise said, smiling cheerfully as they made their way back down into the dungeons.

"We should be able to have breakfast in the common room on Fridays," Draco groused.

It was colder in the Potions classroom than up in the castle proper. It was colder than the Slytherin common room, for the fires there never stopped burning. Fortunately, as they walked the dungeons more than other students, they acclimated to it more readily than the shivering Gryffindors.

The classroom was quite interesting, if creepy, with pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Instead of desks, there were solid stone work benches lined in an orderly manner that had places for two students. Cupboards with shelves were built into the bottom. A pair of drawers contained tools such as thermometers, glass stirring rods, and hot pads.

In addition to their own basic supplies of potion ingredients, there was a rack of ingredients for student use at the back of the room. Each student had to record what he was taking, how much of it he was taking, and what potion he was making. It was strictly regulated to encourage students to purchase their own ingredients.

Blaise neatly elbowed Draco out of the way when he started to sit down next to Harry. She smiled sweetly up at him, and Draco stomped back one row to sit behind Harry, glaring at Blaise with a highly indignant manner. Pansy sat next to him, and Tim sat with Millicent. Jenna sat alone, obviously deciding that she would rather work by herself than with Crabbe or Goyle.

Professor Snape had left the door to the classroom open, so when he slammed it shut behind him, they all jumped. He strode in purposefully, walking down the length of work stations to his desk in the front.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or funny words spoken in this class," he declared, his voice powerful. He reached the front and turned to face them, his robes whipping around him.

"Though you will hardly believe that it _is_ magic, potionmaking is also a subtle science and an exact art," he continued, his voice dropping low, but they caught every word. Like McGonagall, Professor Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death. That is, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry had kept his eyes on Professor Snape the whole time. Then, damn, somehow Harry caught Snape's full attention.

"Well, well," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new- celebrity."

Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas sniggered behind their hands. Snape paid them no attention; maybe he hadn't noticed. His eyes were again boring straight into Harry's skull.

"Tell me, Mister Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He'd studied that! He didn't remember reading about such a potion in the text, but he knew both of those herbs from his reading for Herbology. They were both powerful sleep agents.

"A good long nap, sir?" he said respectfully.

Snape's eyes stopped their intense glare. His face became unreadable. "Quite right, Mister Potter. In a roundabout way, I suppose. Together they form a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Living Death."

His eyes became hard again. "What is the difference, Mister Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now that was being unfair. Two questions? Weasley and Thomas were shaking with laughter at Harry being singled out. Harry struggled to recall. He knew those names. Draco had said something about them right at the end of the night. No, that had been-!

"They're the same thing, sir. Also known as aconite."

Once again, Snape's face was unreadable. "Very good, Mister Potter. Ten points to Slytherin."

Harry took a long breath.

"Mister Potter knows what you all should know. Anyone who did not know the answers, had better write it down," he said, his last words becoming clipped and obnoxious.

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment.

The class was fun to be in. The material was interesting, but watching Professor Snape was highly entertaining. Snape didn't think much of the Gryffindors; this they could tell as soon as Weasley hadn't known where to find a bezoar. Snape had insulted the shabby-robed boy, asking if had been able to afford books. Weasley's face had grown red, but he'd restrained himself from lashing out. He seemed highly embarrassed to have his poverty brought up in front of the wealthy, pureblooded, old magic family students of Slytherin House.

They never did find out what a bezoar was for, as Snape snapped a question at Finnigan. Finnigan muffed the question, losing a point for Gryffindor when the boy's sarcastic answer made a muscle in Snape's cheek twitch.

Snape continued with his questions, not even bothering to lecture. He seemed determined to find out who had prepared for class and who had not. Crabbe and Goyle took abuse when they couldn't answer questions, though they had no points deducted.

When Snape ceased asking questions, he set them to work on a potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing all of the Gryffindors. He left Harry alone, for he could find nothing wrong with the way that Harry and Blaise efficiently divided their duties and quickly had their potion bubbling happily.

He had just called on the class to observe the perfect way that Draco and Pansy had stewed their horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing sound filled the dungeon. Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to melt his cauldron into a twisted blob, and the potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the hot potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in agony as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at the Patil girl who was Longbottom's partner. Then he rounded on Weasley and Thomas, who had been working next to Longbottom.

"Weasley! Thomas! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? You thought such an obvious mistake would make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That'll be five points from Gryffindor."

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but they could see Weasley kick him. "Let it lie," he muttered.

As they climbed out of the dungeon two hours later, Harry's stomach was rumbling, and his spirits were bright. His studying had paid off and he'd earned points for Slytherin. Professor Snape had been plainly impressed with Harry's preparedness for class, and his obvious dislike was replaced by a grudging sort of acknowledgement that Harry might not be a complete dunderhead after all.

As they relaxed their way through lunch, Harry suddenly remembered the note from Hagrid.

"Anyone know how to get up to the Owlery?" he asked.

"You can borrow Arlette," Draco volunteered. "Shall I show you up myself?" he asked. "Who are you writing to, anyway?"

"Hagrid invited me down for tea."

There was a sudden silence around the table.

"Do you intend to go?" Tim asked, his voice artlessly careless.

Harry heard the seriousness behind the casual tone. "Hagrid was the one who rescued me from those Muggles," he reminded his friends. "For that alone, he deserves my goodwill."

They mulled over that.

"Harry is right," Blaise said in his support. "No matter what Hagrid may be, what he may have done, and what he may do, he is the one who gave Harry the truth about his heritage. We should be grateful to him for bringing Harry back where he belongs."

Tim scowled. "I suppose you're right."

"Technically," Pansy sniffed. "But he never should have left, I think. Blame Dumbledore the Muggle Lover for thinking Muggles could properly raise a wizard."

There was much agreement.

"We're a bit off-track," Harry noted. "Should I go to tea?"

There was a mixture of yeas and nays.

"Oh pish on you all," Millicent said, waving her hand dismissively. "If you want to go, Harry, I'll go with you. If nothing else I can remind you of a study session we have to go to."

Company. Harry was glad for it. "Alright," he said. "Draco, can I still borrow Arlette?"

"I said you could borrow her, didn't I?" he sighed, his voice having been one of the nays. "If he seems to be drunk, you should leave," he cautioned.

"It's the middle of the day," Harry said, shocked.

"So?" Tim was derisive. "The inside of the tavern is always dark," he said, sounding like he was quoting from somewhere.

"I won't stay long," Harry promised. "I want to practice that match-needle transfiguration some more."

"Shall we work on our hexes some more after dinner?" Blaise was asking as Harry and Millicent made their way up to the Owlery.

They made small talk on the way. Harry learned that Millicent was the eldest of four children, a brother Arcen, and two sisters, Blanche and Dena. Arcen would be starting Hogwarts the next year, while Blanche and Dena wouldn't be first years until after Millicent had left school.

Millicent's father was highly placed in the Ministry of Magic, Assistant Head of some Division or other. He worked mostly for a lark, being from old money. Her mother was a highly respected fashion expert, her opinions sought by witches from all over the world.

"It's ironic, really," she said. "Mum's into fashion and I couldn't care less. She's finally given up trying to get me to put on a dress."

Millie, as she asked Harry to call her, was enjoying her classes. Herbology and Potions were two subjects that she liked and was amused by the fact that they were so closely tied. Astronomy and History she found boring. She was alright at casting hexes and curses, but she really enjoyed Charms. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall had praised her for being able to affect a change in her matchstick, so Harry knew he would be asking her for help.

As they clumped up the steps to the Owlery, Harry stopped in his tracks. There were owls everywhere! Every type, every size, every colour, every age. Eccidemas, Millie's barn owl, came swooping down to perch on her shoulder, nipping at her head affectionately. Arlette, recognizing Harry, swooped in for some attention as well.

"Hey girl," Harry said, scratching her head. "Draco said I could borrow you to send a letter."

Arlette drew herself up proudly. She stuck out her leg and hooted with pleasure. Arlette was proud of being a magical post owl and took pride in carrying out her responsibilities.

Harry quickly scrawled an acceptance of Hagrid's invitation and held it out to the owl. "Just carry this down to Hagrid's hut and give it to him. You don't need to wait for a reply."

She grasped the parchment firmly in her beak and winged away, out from the belfry and across the castle grounds.

"Success," Millie grinned at him. "Come on, we can waste some time before tea."

Wasting time turned out to mean exploring, and they gathered up Blaise, Draco, and Crabbe before roaming the corridors.

At five to three Harry and Millie left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang, back!"

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"'ang on," he said. "Back, Fang!"

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt on it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Millie and began licking her face.

"This is Millicent," Harry introduced her. Millie was giggling and teasing Fang, the two playing together on the floor.

Hagrid poured boiling water from the kettle into a large teapot. The teapot stood next to a large plate of cookies that looked remarkably like rocks.

"I hope yer keepin' yer head on straight in that nest o' serpents, lad," Hagrid began.

"I've made some good friends," Harry said, not wanting to have a fight about Draco Malfoy again.

"You jest make sure ye keep yerself on the straight an' narrah," Hagrid huffed. "How're them classes?"

Together, Millie and Harry told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang was enjoying cuddling with Millie, and she apparently liked the great tub of pudding.

As Hagrid started ranting about Filch, "that old git," and how he wanted to introduce Mrs. Norris to Fang, Harry noticed a clipping from the Daily Prophet on the table:

****

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Diagon Alley, London: Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringott's spokesgoblin this afternoon.

The date of 31 July rolled around in Harry's head. "Hagrid!" he said, interrupting Millie, who was telling him about her younger brother Arcen.

"That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might have happened while we were there!"

Hagrid refused to meet Harry's eyes. He grunted.

"It's important business, no doubt. Best to keep out of it," he muttered, offering them more cookies. "Keep yer nose clean."

Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

The conversation died out, and Millie stood up. "Thank you for tea, Mister Hagrid, but we have a study session to get to before dinner."

"Aw'right then, get on yer way. Don't wanna keep ye from yer studies. Work hard, will ye?"

They promised that they would do so and left the hut, Millie scratching Fang one last time behind the ears.

"There's something going on," he said to Millie as they walked back up to the castle. "Hagrid knows something about that break-in and he's not talking."

to be continued...


	6. The Midnight Duel

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Six - The Midnight Duel**

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but Ron Weasley was quickly moving up on his mental list. Harry had been the target of Weasley's vulgar invective every time the groups of Slytherins and Gryffindors collided. The names that Weasley called everyone in Harry's circle were always some variant on evil, slimy git. Weasley wasn't very creative when it came to insults, but Tim had been giving him excellent tutelage over the weekend.

It was impossible that Weasley could have something against Harry personally; they didn't even know each other. The nasty words and blatant lies Weasley spewed were apparently justified by nothing more than Harry's House. It was completely irrational to him that Weasley should dislike Harry simply because he belonged to Slytherin.

Draco and Weasley had disliked each other from their first meeting. Harry could see that each held the other in extreme contempt. Usually it was the two of them trading barbed jibes, but sometimes Harry was the target as well. Harry wished the red-haired boy would stop being such a git.

At least first-year Slytherins only had Potions with the Gryffindors, so they wouldn't have to put up with Weasley's contemptuous treatment much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Slytherin common room that everyone got very excited about. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday. Slytherin and Gryffindor would be learning together.

"I can't wait to get out there and show Weasley what a wizard can do on a proper broom, not some thrice handed-down stick with half the twigs missing like he's got," Draco drawled, practically bouncing with anticipation. Harry, on the other hand, was feeling sick to his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself in front of Weasley, Finnigan, and the rest of those Gryffindor gits. He was deathly afraid of embarrassing Slytherin House. Professor Snape's threats still resounded in his mind.

"Wonderful," he said dryly. "Just what I need to do, make an arse of myself on a broom in front of Gryffindor."

"You'll do fine," Draco said dismissively. "Did I tell you about the time this summer when I was flying through the wood near the Manor and almost got spotted by a Muggle whirly-bird?"

"Yes!" Tim said, highly exasperated. Draco had told the story many times over the weekend. The boy was very excited about getting back on a broom and couldn't keep a thought in his head for more than a minute before the broom brushed it back out again.

Draco had been vocal all weekend. He'd complained about first years not being able to have brooms, never getting on the house Quidditch teams. He seemed to have an endless collection of boastful stories about flying.

He certainly wasn't alone, though. Finnigan had apparently spent from the ages of six to eleven zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Weasley insisted he'd almost hit a hang glider while riding his brother Charlie's old broom (Draco had asked him how he'd caught up to the hang glider riding an antique broom, to the Slytherins' vast amusement).

Millie was nearly as eager as Draco. When she'd first read the notice, she'd stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the parchment. Her jaw had dropped slightly and a glazed look had come over her eyes and face. "Broom," she had whispered reverently. "I get to fly a broom again.

Tim had controlled himself a little bit better, and Pansy had managed to keep her wits about her. She was just as eager as the rest, though. Blaise and Jenna had been appropriately enthusiastic. Crabbe and Goyle had merely smiled and nodded their heads approvingly. Everyone was looking forward to it except Harry.

One couldn't prepare for flying on a broom by reading a book or by practising in an unused classroom. He was almost frantic; he'd read _Quidditch Through The Ages_ a bunch of times looking for hints. His friends had all assured him that he'd do fine. Hrmph! Easy for them to say.

Thursday morning came all too soon for Harry. He'd been very busy with schoolwork and hadn't noticed the days speeding past. He'd added a handful of new spells to his repertoire and had managed to get the matchstick to turn into a silver toothpick.

The post always came during breakfast, but Harry never paid attention. He never got anything from anybody. All of his friends had no need to write to him. Draco's mother sent up boxes of sweets twice a week, which he always shared. Blaise's mother had sent everyone a loaf of homemade bread with a crock of fresh churned butter only the previous day.

This morning, there was a bit of a hub-bub at the Gryffindor table. Harry glanced over and saw Longbottom holding a glass ball of some kind.

"Let's check it out," said Draco, always eager for a chance to irritate the Gryffindors. Harry got to his feet and ambled in that direction, walking next to Draco, and with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind.

"What you got there, Longbottom?" Draco said, his customary drawl firmly in place. He snatched the glass ball out of Longbottom's chubby hand.

"Blimey, it's a Rememberall, Harry!" Draco exclaimed. "Longbottom's gotten so absent-minded he has to have someone else remember things for him."

Weasley and Finnigan had jumped to their feet. Finnigan cracked his knuckles, clearly eager to fight. Thomas got up from his seat and stepped closer.

Draco smirked as McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, came up behind her charges. "What's going on here?" she asked, her tones clipped, no-nonsense.

"Malfoy's got Neville's Rememberall, Professor," Weasley said quickly, tattling.

"I only wanted to get a good look at it," Draco said innocently. "That's alright, isn't it Longbottom?"

Draco was looking down at Neville and so Professor McGonagall missed the malicious gleam in his eyes.

"Y-yes, q-quite alright," Neville stammered.

Draco made a show of carefully examining the Rememberall while the Gryffindor boys fumed. Then he handed it back to Longbottom, being quite careful. "Thanks Longbottom. You know, that ball is as full of smoke as your head is."

"Mister Malfoy!" Oh no, he'd angered Professor McGonagall. "Five points from Slytherin for such disrespect."

"Yes Professor," Draco said, still being the perfect gentleman, and gestured with his head to Crabbe and Goyle, before slouching off.

"You prat, you lost us points!" Harry was upset.

Draco waved his hand. "Five points is nothing. I'll make it up tomorrow in Potions. Did you see how scared Longbottom was? I think they changed the Gryffindor mascot from a lion to a chicken."

At three-thirty that afternoon, all the Slytherin first-years hurried through the corridors to the open courtyard for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched across the lawns.

Seventeen broomsticks were laying in two neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard from some of the older students that the school brooms were practically worthless. Some of them got the shakes at high altitude, and others had a constant pull to one side.

Harry sat down on the grass and stretched out. The sun felt wonderful on his face, and he yawned widely. A person could almost nap out here.

Before he could nod off, the Gryffindors arrived, shortly followed by their flying instructor. Madam Hooch had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broom. If you're right-handed, stand on the left, otherwise switch. Come on, hurry up!"

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Hold your wand hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once. He looked up, grinning, and saw that all of the rest of his friends were holding their brooms as well. Crabbe's was hovering a foot or so off the ground, while Goyle had smacked himself across the shins.

The Gryffindors were having their troubles. Weasley had whacked himself in the nose, and Draco, standing across from him, was laughing at him. Longbottom's broom hadn't moved a bit. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid. There was a note in Longbottom's voice that clearly said he wished to keep his feet on the solid ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Much to Draco's chagrin, she told him he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," she said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three, two-"

But Longbottom, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle - four metres - eight metres! Harry could see that his face was ghostly white. Longbottom was petrified. He gasped as the ground fell away, slipped sideways off the broom, and-

WHAM! A thud and a nasty crack and Longbottom lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch rushed over to the boy's side. Her face was nearly as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy, it's alright, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

Longbottom, clutching his wrist and with tears rolling down his chubby cheeks, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into a gut-laugh. Tim added a snicker.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Harry couldn't help himself. While it was a tragic accident, it appeared that Longbottom was going to be alright. It was a good object lesson.

"Evidently no one told Hooch that Longbottom was going to be her demonstration of what not to do," he said, chuckling.

"Shut up, Potter!" snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy jeered. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Well, look here," Draco said, suddenly leaning forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Rememberall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

Weasley glanced around quickly. Almost even odds out here, and not a teacher in sight.

"Give it here, Malfoy," Weasley demanded.

Everybody stopped talking to watch.

Draco ignored Weasley, turned to Harry. "Fancy a game of Keep Away, Harry?" he asked, picking up his broom.

A harmless game.

"Sure," he said, picking up his own broom.

"Malfoy!" shouted Weasley as he lunged for the Rememberall in Draco's hand.

Draco hopped onto his broom and rose into the air, above Weasley's head. Harry instinctively jumped on his own broom and kicked off.

"Well, Weasley? Are you wizard enough to face me up here?" Draco shouted down derisively.

Weasley's face turned very ugly. He mounted his own broom and rose, shakily, into the sky.

Draco hadn't been lying or boasting. He _could_ fly well, and he proved it, neatly dodging Weasley's attempts to seize the Rememberall.

"Here, Harry, catch!" Draco said, tossing the glass globe behind his back and in Harry's direction.

Harry caught it, executing a barrel roll. Wow, how had he done that? He heard gasps from below him, from Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. He could see the Patil girl holding Finnigan back from joining them in the sky. As Weasley rushed at him, Harry tossed the ball back to Draco.

"Hey Weasley, you want this? Go get it!" Draco cocked his arm and whipped it forward, flinging the Rememberall as hard as he could.

Weasley stared after the hurtling object with regret and rage all across his face. "You bastard!" he shouted, flying at Draco again. He missed as Draco dodged nimbly, and he sank back down to the ground looking both furious and defeated.

Harry gasped when Draco threw the ball. That was going too far. He hunched over his broom and zoomed along the ground, looking to intercept the ball before it shattered against the castle wall or the stone walkway. Harry wasn't thinking. All he knew was that if he let such an important possession get damaged, they'd lose points for Slytherin, and probably get detention as well. Totally focused on the glittering globe that was falling from the sky, he zoomed right past a tall, black-robed figure.

Reaching out his hand, he wrapped his fingers around the cool glass, tucking it in close, and bringing himself around quickly. He set his course back towards the others, but sank to the ground and began shaking in fear when he saw Professor Snape standing in the open corridor with his arms crossed, looking very annoyed.

"Mister Potter, just what do you think you are doing?"

Harry swallowed hard. "Well, sir, you see, we were playing a bit of catch with Longbottom's glass ball here, and it got thrown a little bit too hard. I went after it because I didn't want his property to be damaged. We could have lost points, sir."

Professor Snape's face was unreadable. "Give it here, Misterr Potter, I'll make sure it gets back to Longbottom. You'd best get back to the others. And stay off that broom!"

Harry nodded, shouldered his broom, and went trotting back to the rest of the students. He didn't look back and didn't see Professor Snape staring after him.

Before anyone could say anything, though, Madam Hooch returned. She picked up the lesson where she'd left off, and everyone was zooming around quite readily when class ended.

"Line your brooms up back where you found them," she directed them. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

As soon as they got away from the Gryffindors, the Slytherins clustered around Harry.

"What was that?" Blaise asked, her voice trembling. "Where did you learn to fly like that?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but no words came to mind.

"Isn't it obvious?" Millie said, practically drooling. "It's in his bloomin' blood! That sort of talent isn't something you can learn. Oh, we've got to talk to Professor Snape and get Harry on the house team."

"The house team?" Harry said, alarmed. "But first years aren't allowed."

"What position?" Draco asked.

"Seeker, duh." Tim's face was getting animated. "That stupid glass ball was almost like a Snitch."

"Terence Higgs is the starting Seeker!" Pansy protested.

"He was only the reserve last year," Millie said. "The starting Seeker finished school and if we can get Harry permission to try-out, he'd get it for sure!" Millie was paying no attention to where she was walking and nearly fell into a shrub.

"How will being reserve be any good?" Draco asked, bewilderment clear in his voice.

"Terence will have to defend his position since he wasn't the starting Seeker last year," Tim answered. "That's how they do try-outs."

"So if Harry beats Terence to the Snitch, he gets to be Seeker?" asked Blaise.

"We've got to talk to Professor Snape," Millie reiterated, leading the way up the path, into the Front Hall of the castle, down the marble staircase, down the stone stairways to the dungeons.

"Professor Snape?" she said, knocking on his office door.

"Come," Snape's voice rang out.

Millie opened the door and she practically dragged Harry to Professor Snape's desk. Draco, Tim, Blaise, and the others came in as much as they could.

Snape frowned. "All of the first-years," he said, his eyes becoming shrewd. "What's going on?"

"Sir, Harry just did amazing things with a broom!" Millie exclaimed.

"I'm fully aware of Mister Potter's broomstick handling," Snape replied. "And indeed, he does have my permission to try out for the house team."

Harry felt his jaw drop. Professor Snape had done a complete reversal. At first he'd have sworn that the man hated him, then it had become indifference, then respect, and now Snape was doing him a favour.

"How'd you know, sir?" Draco asked.

"I happened to be standing in a corridor adjoining the courtyard during the incident, Mister Malfoy. Mister Potter, I will notify Marcus Flint, the team captain, and he will provide you with information about the try-outs. I hope you appreciate the fact that first-years normally are not allowed to try-out."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Harry's head was spinning, and all he wanted to do was lay down and rest.

The trip back through the dungeons to the Slytherin common room was a blur to Harry. When he came to himself, he was sitting in one of the padded, high-backed chairs at a table near the fire, staring into the flames.

He looked up and saw Draco and Tim working on their Potions homework. Crabbe and Goyle were comparing notes on Astronomy. The girls had gone to the library, he remembered now. His own Potions notes and text were open in front of him.

"Yuck," he said. "I don't want to be thinking about this stuff right before dinner."

He closed his book and opened up Quidditch Through The Ages. _Usually the lightest and faster fliers..._

"Give me Neville's Rememberall, Potter." Weasley's voice was hard and unfriendly.

Harry swallowed his mouthful of roast beef and turned to see Weasley and Finnigan standing behind him, unfriendly scowls across their faces.

"I don't have it, Weasley. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to eat dinner." Harry put another forkful of mashers into his mouth.

Weasley's face grew even more ugly. "I said give it up, Potter."

"What are you, deaf?" Draco snapped. "He told you he doesn't have it. Piss off."

"Shut up, Malfoy. I wasn't talking to you."

"Well I'm talking to you, Weasley. You're outnumbered over here, so I recommend you leave."

"And if I don't?" Weasley asked belligerently.

Draco stood up. "Then I guess I'm just going to have to correct your attitude problem."

Weasley glared at Draco, Harry nearly forgotten. "Any time," he said invitingly.

"Tonight then, if you want. Wands only, no contact."

"Fine."

"In the trophy room; it's always unlocked. Midnight. Finnigan going to be your second?"

"You bet I will," Finnigan said, speaking for the first time, his Irish accent snappy. "Who's yours?"

"Potter, of course," Draco smirked.

It might have been Harry's imagination, but a flicker of uncertainty might have flashed across Weasley's face.

"Fine. Midnight then."

And then they were gone.

"What was all that about?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Draco looked chagrined for a moment. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry. You don't know. Bugger. Umm, okay, Weasley and I are going to have a wizard's duel."

"What's that?"

"It's a formal way of settling disputes. You'll be my second, which means you take over if I die." Draco noted the look of horror that crossed Harry's face. "Never fear. As if some worthless Muggle-loving git like Weasley could kill a Malfoy!"

"But you could get hurt!" Harry protested.

"Nonsense," Draco said, waving the question away.

"You'd better make sure you can cast a Shielding Charm," Tim said, having heard everything.

"As if Weasley has anywhere near my skills," Draco scoffed.

Tim frowned. "Don't get overconfident, Draco. He might have a few surprises for you. Maybe we ought to go with you."

Draco was shaking his head. "No," he said. "How would that look? I told Weasley that it would just be me and Harry tonight. I can't go back on my word, not about something like this. There's honour involved here."

"He's right," Blaise said, leaning over to their huddled conversation. "If anyone else shows up, the terms for the duel are invalid. And you certainly don't want that to happen."

"Right," agreed Draco. "I want to hex him till his own mother won't recognize him."

"We should get some more work in on our casting," Harry suggested.

Draco nodded. "Yes, definitely a good idea. And then a quick nap to recharge. And more food, yes."

He hunched over his plate and began to fork carrots into his mouth, barely pausing to chew.

Harry couldn't continue eating. The succulent slices of roast beef that he had taken grew cold. A wizard's duel. Bloody heck, even if he was only a second, this wasn't good. He hadn't been raised a wizard; he knew nothing about these things.

Blaise, sitting at his left, leaned over. "What's wrong," she whispered.

"Nerves," he whispered back.

"You'll do fine," she assured him. "Draco can take care of himself. All you have to do is stand around and look pretty."

Harry grinned despite himself.

"Trust me, Harry, this isn't a big deal. I think it'll be very educational for you."

"You mean I get to see how proper wizards do things?"

Blaise nodded. "And you get to watch Draco wipe the floor with the Weasel."

As soon as politely possible, Harry, Draco, Blaise, Millie, and Tim all left the table and hurried to the classroom that they had been using for practising their spells. Tim took a bit of chalk and marked two places on the floor.

"That look about right?" he asked.

Draco barely glanced at the marks. "Fine," he said. "Who am I practising against?"

Tim looked around at the others. "I guess that would be me," he said, sighing.

"If you don't want to, Tim, I'll do it," Millie volunteered.

He shook his head. "No, I need the practice too."

Draco and Tim squared off, wands at the ready. Each took a duelling posture.

"Three, two, one, go!" shouted Blaise.

"_Aegis vocare!_" Tim cast a Shielding Charm as Draco pointed his wand and cast his own spell.

Back and forth the two cast their spells, dodging, ducking, and occasionally connecting. Draco fell victim to the Leg-Locker Curse and took several nasty hexes before he could remove it. Tim exulted in his momentary victory, and that led to his downfall when he was caught unawares and could not escape the Jelly-Legs Jinx.

"Bugger!" he shouted, falling down.

"I win!" Draco said, smirking triumphantly.

"Like hell," Tim said, pointing his wand from the floor and casting the Tickling Charm.

Draco dropped his wand as he clutched his sides, laughing uncontrollably.

"Enough," Harry said, stepping between them. He performed the counter for the charm on Draco and helped Tim to his feet.

"Impressive, boys," Millie said, clapping her hands.

"Thank you," gasped Draco, wheezing for breath.

"I'd say you're more than ready to take on Weasley," Blaise said admiringly. "There's no way he could know even half of those spells. And he certainly won't be able to think fast enough to do the reversals."

"Let's hope so," Harry said. "How does a proper duel end?"

Blaise took his arm as they left the classroom and made their way down to the dungeons.

"It depends on how serious the dispute is," she said. "If it's really serious it can be to the death. Then the second will take over. But usually it's just till one wizard disarms the others. If a wizard loses hold of his wand, then the duel is over."

"But what then?" Harry asked.

She blinked. "Well, I suppose the loser has to apologize. There's usually specific terms laid out before the duel begins."

Harry fretted. "I don't know enough about this to be a proper second," he said, wringing his hands.

"Don't worry about it," Blaise reassured him. "Draco knows what he's doing. He won't let you make any mistakes."

When they got back to the common room, Harry and Draco immediately went to bed. They would need to be awake and full of vigour to do their best. Draco especially needed to replenish his magical energies after the practising he'd been doing. Despite Harry's worries, he fell asleep almost immediately. The next thing he knew, Tim was shaking him awake.

"C'mon, Harry, time to go defend Slytherin pride."

Harry nodded groggily and stumbled to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face. The shock of it snapped him awake instantly. He returned to the dorm and found Draco awake as well, double-checking that his wand was still secure.

The two boys nodded at each other, not speaking.

"Good luck," Tim grunted, finally free to seek his own bed.

They were silent as they walked the corridors and made their way up the stairs to the third floor where the trophy room was.

Weasley and Finnigan weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Draco held his wand in his left hand, tapping it nervously against his palm. The minutes crept by.

"Where is that git?" Harry asked, impatient to have it done with so he could go back to bed.

Draco checked his watch. "He's late. Maybe he's too much of a coward?"

Harry was about to respond, but a noise in the next room made him freeze. He drew his own wand.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

Filch! Mrs. Norris! They'd been betrayed! Horror-struck, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him towards the door. They had barely got out into the corridor when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

Harry gestured to Draco, leading the way down the hall. Pale as a sheet, Draco followed him down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer.

"Ah hah!" they heard him shout with glee. "Footprints in the dust!"

"Oh no," Harry moaned. "Run!"

The pair sprinted down the gallery, not looking back. They swung around the doorpost and dashed down one corridor then another. Harry was in front, no idea where he was or where he was going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which he knew was miles away from the trophy room.

They stopped, gasping for breath. "That was close," Draco wheezed.

"Too close," agreed Harry. "How'd he know we'd be there?"

"Weasley," Draco hissed. "That git went tattling. I'll fix him."

"Never mind that right now," Harry said. "We've got to get back to the dorm before we get caught."

"How?" Draco asked as they walked down the corridor. "I'm so lost, I couldn't tell you which direction down is."

"The Charms classroom is right over there," Harry said, pointing. "We just-"

Peeves popped out into the corridor, making them jump. "What for you are wandering around at midnight?" he said loudly.

"Peeves, shut up!" hissed Draco. "You'll get us caught!"

"Oh, la di da di!" Peeves cackled.

"We'll get the Baron after you," Harry hissed, furious and scared. "How would you like that?"

Peeves sneered at them. "Don't care. Shouldn't be making threats, Ickle Firsties. Mouths getting ahead of you. Let me help your problem!"

Harry tried to duck away as Peeves lunged at him with a pair of dirty socks. "Eew!"

Draco had managed to get around Peeves and Harry dashed under the poltergeist. Together they ran for the end of the corridor.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

"Oh, we're in for it now," moaned Draco as they ran for their lives. At the end of the corridor, Harry reached for the door to push it open and slammed into it, hard. The breath was knocked from his body as Draco crashed full into Harry's back.

"Open the door," Draco cried, tugging at the knob. Together they pushed and pulled. It was locked and refused to open.

"We're done for," Harry said, nearing a state of panic.

In only seconds Filch would be on them. Harry forced himself to stop panicking. Resolutely he pushed his panic to the back of his mind. Millie had been telling him about an Unlocking Charm yesterday. What were the bloody words!

"_Alohomora!_" he said, praying for the spell to work.

A jet of white light shot from the end of his wand into the lock. Draco quickly pulled the door open and they ducked inside, slamming the door shut behind them. They leaned up against the walls in relief.

"Bugger, that was too close." Draco was shaking. Too many panic attacks in too short a timeframe.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying, his voice barely audible through the thick door. "Quick, tell me now!"

"Say 'please,'" the poltergeist sassed him.

"Which way did they go, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

"All right- please!"

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks the door is locked," Harry whispered. "If we just stay here we should be f-" He broke off in mid-sentence, his eyes bugging out of his head.

"D-Do you like dogs?" Harry asked, his voice trembling.

"They're alright," Draco answered, raising one eyebrow. "Odd sort of question at the moment, isn't it?"

"Not really," Harry said, pointing a finger up behind Draco's head. Way up tall.

Harry was quite sure he'd walked into a nightmare. On top of everything else that had happened tonight, he just couldn't take this sort of shock.

They stood not in a classroom, as Harry had supposed, but instead in the forbidden third-floor corridor. Now he knew why it was forbidden; now he knew why Dumbledore had promised a fearsome and horrifying death.

Draco turned around and let out a slight whimper as he stared up into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that. There was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob. Given the choice between being caught by Filch and dying a most painful and horrifying death, he chose Filch.

They fell backwards, Harry slamming the door closed, and they ran, almost flew, back to the safety of the dungeons. Filch must have hurried off to look for them elsewhere, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared. All they wanted to do was put as much space between them and that monster as possible. They didn't stop running until they reached the blank stone wall that concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Shaking, nearly crying from sheer stress, they collapsed on the floor in front of the fire.

"What in the name of the Founders is a beast like that doing in a school filled with children?" Draco demanded, his voice shaking. He had lost his normally cool demeanour and appeared on the verge of a breakdown.

"That's much too big to be a watchdog," Harry attempted to joke. But his joke started the cogs turning in his own brain. Watchdog; guard dog; guard; treasure; vault; the Gringotts break-in! Hagrid had said that the only place more secure than Gringotts was Hogwarts itself. It was tenuous logic at best, but it did seem to fit.

He'd deduced where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen had gone to.

to be continued...


	7. Friends Who Stick Together

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Seven - Friends Who Stick Together**

After their night of chases, terror, and panic, Harry and Draco fell into bed completely exhausted. Still scared beyond reason, they were asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. When Tim shook him awake six hours later, Harry just did not want to get up.

"Harry, none of that," Tim scolded, as Harry tried to roll over and pull the covers over his head. Harry replied with an unintelligible grunt, much like the ones Goyle and Crabbe often made.

Tim stepped back and took stock of the situation. He summoned Crabbe over to assist.

"Grab him," Tim ordered. "Goyle, you grab Draco. We have to get these two awake and to class on time."

Harry vaguely felt powerful hands latch onto his pajamas. Then the warm covers were pulled away, and cold air shot down his neck. He whimpered and reached for the blankets, trying to get back to the warm, cozy haven that was his bed.

Though he was not aware of it, Crabbe practically dragged him down the hall and into the bathroom where Tim already had the showers running. Tim pointed to the two stalls, indicating for the two boys to put their burdens under the spray of water, and checked his watch, frowning.

Harry came awake with a gasp as water was suddenly cascading on his head. He sucked in a mouthful of it and started choking, spitting it back out into the drain. Blearily, he leaned back and looked out of the stall where Tim stood with his arms crossed, looking at his watch, and tapping his foot impatiently.

"Let's go. You two already missed breakfast. Bathe."

Harry fumbled for the soap and began to wash, only to realize that he was still wearing his pajamas. He groaned and began unbuttoning them, chucking each sopping piece out onto the tile floor.

Ten minutes later, clean and with his hair freshly washed (although still very wild), Harry stepped out of the stall and took the towel that Tim held out for him. He went to the sink and began brushing his teeth.

"Let's _go_, Draco," Tim snapped, highly irritated.

"I'm conditioning," Draco's voice came back, drifting out of the stall along with the steam. "My hair is high maintenance."

"Your _head_ is going to need maintenance if you take any longer, because I'm going to have Crabbe put his fist through it. We're going to be late for Potions!"

"Almost done," Draco sighed. Two minutes later the shower was off and Draco reached for his towel.

"C'mon, back to the room, hurry!"

Harry and Draco quick-stepped it back to the dorm and pulled on their uniforms and robes. Despite only having Potions today, they made sure to take their wands. Harry picked up his school bag and the Slytherin boys hurried off to their classroom.

No sooner had Harry sat down next to Blaise than Professor Snape stalked in, an unhappy scowl across his face. "Weasley!" he barked. "Have you figured out where a bezoar can be found yet? You've had all week."

Weasley, who'd been whispering something to Finnigan, jumped and flushed slightly. "No sir, sorry sir."

"Five points from Gryffindor for being grossly unprepared for class," the Potions Master snapped.

The class went on without further incident as they reviewed the steps for properly brewing a Forgetfulness Potion. Harry was bleary throughout the lecture, and despite having missed breakfast, the ingredients list was enough to kill his hunger. Though he was still very tired, Harry and Blaise managed to turn out a respectable potion, and Professor Snape praised both of them, saving a flask of it.

"Next week I want a roll of parchment from each of you detailing the-" Professor Snape broke off what he'd been going to say and stopped in his tracks. He swooped down like a striking hawk and seemed to snatch something up off the floor. He held out his hand to the Gryffindors, the Rememberall glittering in his palm.

"This belongs to you, Longbottom, does it not?"

"Y-y-yessir," Longbottom said, barely able to get the words out.

"Keep better track of your possessions and don't leave them in my classroom. Five points from Gryffindor."

Professor Snape carelessly tossed the Rememberall in Longbottom's general direction, and Parvati Patil, his partner, barely caught it for him. Weasley's face was bright red. He was clearly furious.

Harry was stunned. Longbottom hadn't dropped the ball in the dungeons; he'd lost it in the courtyard during Flying lessons. And Professor Snape knew it! Could he get away with being so biased?

His mouth must have been hanging open, because Blaise tapped him under the chin. "Hush up," she whispered. "We'll talk about it later."

Snape assigned their homework and then left the classroom, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the first year students still in the midst of cleaning up. When they had finished and were filing out of the room, Harry felt a shove from behind that propelled him into the wall.

"Hey!" he said, turning around. There stood Weasley and Finnigan. The rest of the Gryffindors had already left, leaving them alone with Harry, Draco, Tim, and the girls.

"Longbottom didn't lose his Rememberall in this dungeon, Potter," Weasley spat. "You told me yesterday that you didn't have it, you liar."

"And he was telling the truth, Weasley," Draco drawled, reaching casually for his wand.

Harry's fatigue had evaporated. "You didn't believe me anyway, Weasley," he said, his pulse increasing. He could feel the adrenaline rush come on him as his body prepared itself for fight or flight.

"Why should I believe a lying, sneaking Slytherin?" Weasley sneered at him.

Harry felt his own temper start to rise. If there was one thing Harry had hated about living at Privet Drive (above all the things he had hated), it was being called a liar whenever he told the Dursleys that he didn't know how strange things kept happening around him. Whether it was how the glass at the zoo had disappeared or his hair's insistence that it didn't want to be cut, Harry's protestations had always been met with cries of "Liar!" To hear Weasley echoing that false accusation was maddening.

"Shut up, Weasley," Tim snapped. "_They_ kept their word last night. You never showed."

"Quite right," Draco continued. "You could have found out just how honourable Slytherins are if you hadn't chickened out of the duel. You obviously don't know the first thing about wizardly honour. Tell me truly: Did you go tattling to Filch right after dinner or did you tell that rule-spouting wanker of a brother?"

Weasley went red again and went for his wand, but found three in his face before he could get his hand halfway there. Weasley froze. Harry, Tim, and Blaise all had him dead center. Millie, Pansy, and Jenna kept a close guard on Finnigan, who was looking very nervous.

Draco leaned in close. "Now let's get one thing clear, Weasley, you are inferior. You're almost as inferior as the Muggles your family loves so much. I don't know why you're here and not in some public school. Do you know that Muggles can go to school for free, Weasley? Books belong to the school and are loaned out to the students. Wouldn't that be nice, Weasley? Your parents could have sent all, what, twenty of you? Could have sent all of their grubby little spawn to Muggle school.

"I know you were afraid to duel me last night. That's why you tattled to Filch. Well we don't like tattlers, do we Slytherins?"

"No," everyone chorused.

"That's not how it was!" Finnigan protested.

"We got caught by McGonagall!" Weasley echoed.

"And you were so scared you spilled everything to her?" Pansy sneered. "Is that the famed Gryffindor courage?"

Draco smiled nastily. "I don't believe you," he said, throwing Weasley's words back in his face. "So, as payback for snitching, you're going to get all the hexes you would have gotten last night, but this time, you don't even get the dignity of fighting back."

As if on cue, Crabbe and Goyle, who'd been cleaning up the last of their spilled potion, came out of the classroom and grabbed Weasley and Finnigan from behind.

"In the classroom," Draco directed. The two Gryffindors were dragged inside. The Slytherins filed in orderly.

"Lock the door," Tim ordered.

"_Aromohola!_" Millie said firmly, sending a jet of black light into the lock. She pulled on it twice, but it stayed shut.

"You can't do this, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted angrily, struggling against Crabbe's iron grip.

"You should have kept your word, Weasley. Now not only do you have to suffer, but your friend does as well."

"Now wait just a second here," Finnigan protested.

"_Eructare ariolimax!_" The spell fizzled.

"Eew, don't make him burp slugs," Pansy said, gagging.

"Fine, fine," Draco said, not at all bothered that the spell had failed. He pointed his wand again and cast his favourite hex, "_Furunculus_!"

Harry was fuming with anger. Weasley had called Harry a liar, insulted his House, and set him up to get in trouble. Dudley Dursley was no longer the person Harry hated most; that honour was reserved now for Ronald Weasley. He was aching to cast some hexes of his own at Weasley, but Draco was casting for all he was worth. It would be enough.

The next few minutes were not pleasant for Weasley and Finnigan. Held firmly by Crabbe and Goyle, they couldn't fight back or even dodge the hexes and jinxes that Draco cast at them. Their cries of pain, which they'd made an effort to hold back at first, echoed loudly off the stone walls.

Draco hit Finnigan with about a half-dozen hexes. Weasley took a full dozen before another Boils Hex fizzled out before reaching him. Draco's next two spells also failed to materialize. Breathing heavy, sweat glistening off his brow, his usually neatly combed hair nearly as untidy as Harry's normally was, Draco staggered and nearly fell. Weasley and Finnigan were allowed to collapse on the floor, crying.

"Next time you should keep your word, Weasley," Draco said in gasps, spitting on the boy. He turned back to his friends. "Let's get out of here. I'm knackered."

He led the way out through the open door where they came to a sudden halt. Professor Snape was standing in the corridor, arms crossed, and looking very imposing.

"S-sir," Draco stammered.

Snape said nothing, keeping the pressure on. They continued to sweat. Harry was panicking inside, sure that this meant detention, or even expulsion.

"All in all a neat bit of work, Mister Malfoy," Snape finally said, "but you might want to pick a different room next time. I'll deal with those two. You lot get out of here."

He swept past them into the classroom and slammed the door shut.

The students looked at each other. With one mind, they dashed back to the common room and began to laugh.

"I-I-I," Harry said, trying to control himself. "I thought we were dead for sure."

"Preposterous," Blaise said, still shaking with glee. "Professor Snape would never betray his own like that. You know he despises Gryffindors as an axiom."

"Say that again," Draco wheezed. "In plain English this time."

Tim fell out of his chair and onto the floor, kicking his feet weakly. Between their relief at knowing that Professor Snape was truly looking out for them and Blaise's continued usage of grown-up words, even in the current situation, the Slytherins couldn't control themselves. It was a clear incident of mass hysteria.

When they had all recovered from their manic laughter, they put their books away and hurried up to the Great Hall for lunch. Harry remembered that he had some interesting news to share, but it was not the sort of thing that should be discussed in the open. He was impatient throughout lunch, quickly eating his fill and then waiting for everyone else to finish.

Back in the common room, he cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him.

"There's something extremely valuable being kept here in Hogwarts," he began. "Whatever used to be kept in vault seven-thirteen at Gringotts is now here at school and there's a three-headed dog guarding it."

"We accidentally hid in the forbidden third-floor corridor last night while running from Filch," Draco contributed. "Huge monstrous beast, it was, straight out of Greek myth."

"I'm sure that it was Hagrid who emptied that vault at Gringotts. He took me there before we went to my vault. It was this little thing, about five or six centimeters long, wrapped in brown paper. He told me I shouldn't mention it to anyone, that it was secret Hogwarts business."

"Hagrid _did_ seem very evasive when we asked him about the article from the _Daily Prophet_," Millie said, her voice curious.

"And he said that the only place safer than Gringotts was Hogwarts itself. The presence of that dog only confirms it. We've got something extremely valuable here." Harry was pleased that he'd made such a brilliant argument.

"Or it could be dangerous," Draco pointed out. "One never knows about these things."

"It could be anything," Tim said, stifling a yawn. "I imagine there's any number of magic rings in the world."

"But how can a simple magic ring justify a great, slobbering, giant dog?" Draco pressed.

"I don't know," Tim admitted, "but I do know that we could speculate for weeks and still not come up with the answer."

"We need more clues," Harry decided.

"And just how are you going to get them?" Pansy asked derisively. "They're not going to just go telling students what it's all about, especially not first year students like us."

"We'll go hunting around," Harry said. "Aside from being scared half to death, that three-headed dog was quite an adventure."

"Adventure," Jenna said, sniffing. "Nearly getting killed doesn't qualify as fun in my book."

"It was rather over the top," Draco admitted. "I could do with a little less deadly of an adventure next time, though."

Any further discussion was cut off as Marcus Flint, a sixth year student and captain of the house Quidditch team, came up and sat down. Marcus was not a handsome boy, and that was being polite. He looked as though his grandmother had dallied with a troll. He had a high, sloping forehead, beady little eyes, and crooked teeth.

"Sorry to burst in," he said cheerfully, "but Professor Snape's just told me about Harry's little broom adventure. So you want to try out for the team, do you Harry?"

"Yes, quite," Harry said, dreams of Quidditch glory filling his mind.

"Well you look to have the right build for a Seeker," Flint said, still cheerful. "We're doing trials next weekend, so get yourself a top-notch broom. You certainly can't do it with a school stick."

"I will," Harry promised.

"Good! Glad we had this little chat. Do carry on. Cheerio," Flint said, getting to his feet and ambling off.

"Congratulations, Harry!" Millie said, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

"You're going to get on the team," Pansy said, sing-songing her voice. "And we're going to destroy the other houses."

Harry grinned. "I just want to fly again."

Everyone nodded, understanding the lure of the open sky.

"Bugger, we've got to get to the courtyard!" Millie exclaimed. "We've got Flying lessons!"

There was a general stampede for the door.

After lessons (lor it had felt good to be in the air again), Harry went up to the Owlery with Draco. He had to get his order off to the Nimbus Racing Broom Company so that he could have the broom for the trials next week. Draco was being kind enough to loan him Arlette for the posting. Harry was quickly coming to see the advantages of owning one's own owl.

When the order had been sent on its way, there was nothing else to do until dinner. Harry didn't feel like studying, nor did he want to play games with the others. Excusing himself, he went to get his cloak for a walk out on the battlements. Some fresh air would do him plenty of good, and it'd been several days since he'd seen the sun properly. (In the morning while trying to dress and prepare for class didn't count.)

When he got into the hall, though, someone was waiting for him.

"You shouldn't go wandering by yourself, you know," Blaise told him, gesturing for him to walk next to her.

"Why's that?" he said, falling into step with her.

"Alone, you make an easy target."

That statement was rather profound, and they walked in silence.

Blaise was an interesting person, no doubt about it. She didn't feel the need to fill the silence with random conversation. Instead she was content to merely spend time with someone.

"Why'd you follow me, Blaise?" he asked curiously.

"Because you're my friend," she said with sincerity. "And when someone wants to go off and be by himself, it usually means there's something wrong."

There was certainly truth to that.

"Friends are good for talking to about stuff like that. We listen, we care, we want to help. So if you want to talk, Harry, I'm here to listen and help if I can."

Harry didn't answer immediately. The words he wanted to say were tricky. He couldn't think of exactly the right phrasing.

"I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed by everything," he said finally. "I've been doing real well with magic, thanks to my friends helping me," he added, "and that takes some getting used to. Yesterday I found out that I've got a gift for flying, and now I get to try out for the house team, which other people don't get to do. Everybody knows my name, but I'm being judged for simple things like the house I'm in. And I've never had friends before, and you're all so wonderful. I'm scared that I'm going to wake up and it'll all have been just a glorious dream."

They stopped walking and Blaise looked deep into his face. Then she hugged him. Startled, Harry was about to protest. Then he realized that it felt nice. Hugging wasn't something he ever did. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon certainly didn't inspire hugs. Dudley would rather pound on him.

Hesitantly, he hugged Blaise back. He tried not to squeeze too hard; he didn't want to hurt her. She kept her arms locked tight around him, holding on as if for dear life. Finally she released him.

"There, now did that feel like a dream?" she asked.

He grinned. "No, it felt very real. Thank you."

"Welcome. Anytime you want a hug, you just let me know."

Harry kept smiling. "I will."

"I know this has been arduous for you," she said, continuing down the hall. "You've told us a bit, but I still can't imagine what it must have been like to live with Muggles, waking up to their stupid hatred every morning. It's remarkable that you're as normal as you are."

"I'm certain they're not all bad," Harry said. "Out of the billions of them, there's got to be a few who aren't stupid and cruel like the Dursleys and those awful children I knew at school."

Blaise nodded. "And not all wizards are wonderful either, but we've got a darned sight better ratio than Muggles do."

"I never met a nice Muggle," Harry mused. "But that doesn't mean there aren't any. Just because Muggles have been mean to me doesn't mean it's right to be cruel to others."

"You're talking about Granger, right?"

Harry nodded. "And all the rest of the Muggleborns and the Muggle-lovers too."

"Pretty titanic issue to deal with, isn't it?"

He nodded again, silently.

"I know it must seem that we speak without thinking, that we hate without understanding why, but that's just not the way it is. Muggleborn wizards almost caused our entire culture to be destroyed hundreds of years ago. There was a war going on, and these Muggleborns got involved because they had kin who were fighting. They started using magic, Muggles saw them, and the panic was nearly the end of us all. Memory Charms hadn't been invented yet, so there was nothing for it. Those wizards were assassinated, and eventually enough people were killed in battle that those who survived were considered insane. It was a very scary time, so the stories say. Muggleborns cannot be trusted."

"Surely they've evolved since then," Harry protested.

Blaise smiled sadly at him. "Ever pick up and read a Muggle newspaper, Harry? It's full of murder, rape, and other atrocities. On any given day, a Muggle newspaper is a testament of man's inhumanity to man."

"You know my mother was Muggleborn," Harry said, a little desperate for some ground to stand on.

She shrugged. "I'm not saying that all of them are bad, but almost every one is more or less just like Granger. Harry, answer me this question: How does Granger act? Be honest, now."

The Slytherins shared History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, so Harry saw Granger firsthand. He thought hard, sifting through his memories. "She's such a know-it-all," he sighed, realizing that he was losing this debate.

Blaise nodded. "She's also bossy and uncouth. She doesn't understand that there's more to magic than just saying funny words. All that she will ever know is magic by rote, by memorization, by the book. She'll never understand that magic is an Art. A pure-blooded wizard, one who understands his magic, can take his wand, wave it around, and make whatever he can envision come to pass."

They had slowed to a halt during this conversation, and now they began to walk again. "It's good that you're not just agreeing with what the people around you believe. I think it's really sweet that you're ready to believe the best about people, but before too much longer that innocence will fade. I wish it could be different, but sooner or later you'll see that we're right. And until it happens, you need to know that we're not going to stop being your friends. Just because you don't agree one hundred per cent with our opinions doesn't mean we don't like you."

"Friends can disagree?" Harry's tone was hopeful. He liked his friends and was very scared to lose them. He never wanted to go back to being an outcast again.

Blaise laughed lightly. "Of course! Tim and Pansy fight constantly, but they'll stand together against anyone. All of us will, no matter what. We've all been good friends since we were old enough to understand what the word meant.

"There are others we know, like Mandy Brocklehurst, Terry Boot, and even the Patil twins, who we played with quite a lot, but weren't as close to. It was just the whim of the Hat that put Mandy and Padma in Ravenclaw. But it sent Parvati to Gryffindor, which I would never have expected. And Terry? It was probably family destiny that put him in Ravenclaw."

"That's what you said at the Sorting," Harry replied.

She nodded. "All of his family have been Ravenclaws, all the way back to the Founders.

"Crabbe and Goyle didn't share our tutors, so Draco's the only one who was really good friends with them before Hogwarts. It was good fortune that put Jenna with us, and double good fortune that we met you as well. You're one of us now, just as surely as if you'd known us these ten years past."

"It feels good to belong," Harry smiled as he opened the door out onto the battlements, holding it open for Blaise. She smiled back at him and stepped outside.

"Thank you, Harry. You have wonderful manners."

He shrugged and smiled winsomely.

The view from the battlements was breathtaking. The sun was perched above the horizon, almost ready to begin setting. The sky was filled with fiery oranges, reds, and purples. A few bright stars could be seen twinkling in the dusk. A flowing breeze lifted their robes and sent the fabric flapping around.

"So are you feeling better?" Blaise asked him.

Harry nodded. "Yes, very much. I've been so scared to speak up because I thought you wouldn't want to be friends with me if I disagreed with you so severely."

"Friendship isn't that fragile, Harry. True friendships can last a lifetime and can survive anything."

He mused on that as they watched the sunset together.

"You know, you don't sound like any eleven year old I've ever met." It wasn't just the big words she used; Blaise sounded far too mature for her age.

She laughed. "You're not the first to say that. Jamie always tells me that I think too much. She's just mad because every time we get into a debate, she loses."

When at last there was no light left in the sky, they went back inside the castle and made for the Great Hall.

"I'm so hungry," Harry said, feeling his stomach rumble.

"Oh, you boys are all alike," she laughed. "Always hungry. Has anyone told you about the time when Draco ate six blueberry pies?"

Weasley and Finnigan were conspicuous by their absence at dinner. It wasn't until Terry Boot had come over to the Slytherin table to join them for afters that they knew why. Terry told them that Mandy Brocklehurst had heard from Padma Patil who had heard from her twin sister Parvati who had said that Weasley and Finnigan had been caught dueling in the Potions classroom by Professor Snape and given detention.

"After all," Terry said gleefully, "they were covered with hex marks. Snape said that they'd had some sort of disagreement during class and had obviously decided to settle it in their own way."

Draco had been laughing since he'd first heard the word detention. As word spread down the table, laughter ranging from chuckles to muffled shrieks to gut-laughs erupted. A few heads turned to look over at their table, obviously wondering if the Slytherins were all insane. By contrast, the Gryffindor table was somewhat subdued; smoldering anger at just about everything was almost palpable.

Harry sat silently, not really certain how he felt about this latest development. He looked over at Blaise, who was giggling. All of his friends were laughing.

Weasley had started things off by going out of his way to insult Slytherins, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. He'd never even spoken to Harry before he'd begun his bashing. Just that Harry was in Slytherin was enough for Weasley to dislike him. Slytherins didn't like Muggleborns and Muggle-lovers, but they didn't try to say that Muggles were evil, just cruel and stupid. Blaise had given some very logical, very well-reasoned arguments, whereas all Weasley could do was insult them. When it came down to it, who was the more prejudiced?

Weasley had called him a liar, the little voice continued. He had no proof, but had called Harry a liar anyway and was completely unwilling to listen to the truth. That hurt a lot. Though he was used to the Dursleys calling him a liar (and lots of other horrible names!) this was a boy his own age, a boy he could have been friends with if he'd given Harry a chance. If Weasley wanted to be a right bastard, then let him reap what he had sown.

So Harry laughed, allowed himself to find amusement in the misfortunes of someone who had made himself into Harry's enemy. Blaise raised an eyebrow in his direction, but then smiled and continued giggling.

All of the Slytherins were in a good mood as the Great Hall cleared of students. Harry saw Elan speaking with Percy Weasley, one of Gryffindor's prefects. Though Harry couldn't hear what was being said, Elan was clearly taking a jab at Percy through his younger brother's actions. Percy grew stony-faced and snapped something back before sweeping past Elan in a pompous manner.

It was Friday night, with no classes for the morning, so Harry stayed up late with his friends. They played Exploding Snap in the common room, talked about Quidditch, and avoided all discussion of magic or classes. Crabbe told several funny jokes, which amazed Harry since the larger boy seemed to be pretty slow. Draco amused everyone by depicting a probable scene when Weasley and Finnigan had been found by Professor Snape. Blaise passed out home-baked cookies sent up by her Mum. It felt good to just relax and enjoy the company of his friends.

When they finally did seek their beds, Harry was yawning every two seconds and could barely see his way. Draco had hold of one arm, Tim the other, and the three were staggering like drunkards for their dorm.

He was almost instantly asleep. Extremely tired, his mind conjured up fearful spectres to haunt his dreams. He was chasing a man made up of shadows, who was in turn chasing a glowing point of red light. There was a desperate fear filling him, a fear of the dark man catching the light, and Harry came awake with a frightened gasp.

He lay still, or tried to. His whole body was shaking, trembling with fear. He couldn't recall what had frightened him so badly, try though he might. All that he could dredge up was a sensation of darkness creeping over him, a feeling of dread. Frustrated at not remembering, he threw himself back into his pillow. Sleep would not come back to him tonight. He reached up and pulled open his curtains, turned on his side, and lay watching the moon rise above the tree-line through their big window. When the sun began to bleed the sky of darkness, Harry was still awake, still trying to remember his dream.

to be continued...


	8. Quidditch Anyone?

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eight - Quidditch Anyone?**

The next morning at breakfast, Harry was surly and out-of-sorts. He knew he was in a bad mood, so he did his best to stay out of any and all conversations. His friends, however, were determined to drag out whatever was bothering him and wave it around in the light for a little bit. When he would have sequestered himself away in the library and poured over his classwork, Draco and Tim took him firmly in hand and led him out into the morning sunshine of the courtyard.

"Something's wrong," Draco said bluntly. "Care to tell your friends what's got you in such a foul mood today?"

"It's nothing important," Harry said, trying to avoid discussing his dream, something he didn't even understand himself.

"Bollocks," Tim replied. "You said almost nothing at breakfast and didn't eat hardly a thing. Something's put you in a bad mood, and it's our duty as your friends to cheer you up."

"Or help fix the problem," Draco interjected.

"I just didn't sleep well, that's all." Harry's voice was tired. Couldn't they see that he wanted to be by himself?

"Well I have something to pick your mood up anyway," Tim said, handing Harry a paper-wrapped box.

"What is it?" Harry asked, taking the package, curious despite his tiredness.

"Open it and see." Tim gave a credible imitation of Draco's trademark smirk.

Harry tore the paper off and opened the box. Inside were dozens of cards from packages of Chocolate Frogs!

"They're all those duplicates I said I hadn't got rid of yet. Now you've got a great start on your own collection."

It was such a generous gift that Harry was forced to smile. "Thanks Tim. You didn't have to, you know."

"Nonsense," came the reply. "What am I going to do with near to a hundred duplicate Chocolate Frog cards?"

"Trade them?"

"Almost nobody has cards that I don't," Tim said, managing not to sound braggy by a small margin. "There's only a few rare cards in the current series that I'm missing. I have better luck just finding them or by buying them outright."

Harry felt his mood lift a little. Still...

"Thanks for trying, mates, but I'd like to spend some time by myself."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, very concerned. "Alone? That can be dangerous."

"So I've heard, but I'll deal with it. I know almost as many spells as you do right now. Besides, I doubt Weasley will want to give me trouble so soon after serving detention."

"True that, but with Gryffindors you never can tell. Watch your back, okay?"

"I will," Harry promised. "And I'll see you at lunch."

Tim and Draco walked away, chattering animatedly about the Nimbus 2000. Harry lay on his back in the courtyard and stared up at the clouds in the sky.

Nobody tried to pick a fight with him, which was wonderful. A couple of times his fellow Slytherins came by to check that he was okay, but when he said he just wanted to relax a bit, they apologized for interrupting him and went on their way.

The morning sun was burning hot and bright, and the night's chill was all but a fading memory. The sunshine felt good on his face, and Harry wallowed in the warmth. It let him forget that autumn was coming soon, and they would all be trapped in the castle (or be risking frozen toes).

Clouds trailed across the blue sky, occasionally taking strange shapes. There was one that looked like Draco, another that looked like Millie. It was probably a trick of the light, but Harry swore he saw a cloud that looked like Professor Snape. That would have been fine, but then the wind shifted, and the cloudy Snape was kissing a cloudy McGonagall! Harry shook his head when he saw that, telling himself that he was overtired.

He closed his eyes, trying to eradicate the cloudy image from his mind. With soothing darkness, he was soon calm again. Without realizing it, Harry fell asleep.

The clanging of the bell woke him with a start, and from the way the sun had jumped in the sky, he realized it was noon and time for lunch. He got to his feet, brushing off grass and dirt from his robes.

In the Great Hall, students were just sitting down. He joined Draco, Tim, and the others, everyone giving him a greeting of some kind.

"Hello," he said, in a decidedly better mood.

"You look a little red," Blaise noted.

Harry reached up and put his hand on his cheek. True enough, his skin was slightly hot.

"I fell asleep in the courtyard after breakfast," he admitted sheepishly.

That admission drew amused chuckles and head shakes.

"Oh Harry," Blaise giggled, "you're so silly."

"Yeah, that's me, laugh riot central," Harry said sarcastically. "I'm working on a full lobster disguise, in case I ever need to hide among crustaceans."

More giggling followed. Then everyone's attention was drawn to a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as curious as everyone else, but his curiosity turned to amazement when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when a seventh owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry immediately ripped open the letter.

Nimbus Racing Broom Company

Mr. H. Potter  
Hogwarts School

Dear Mr. Potter:

Here is your new Nimbus 2000, fresh off the product line! We at Nimbus thank you for your buisness and hope you will enjoy your broom for years to come. Enclosed find a copy of your warantee and service manual. Once again, we thank you for choosing Nimbus!

Regards,  
Amber Cunningham  
President, Sales Division

Harry was stunned at the speedy service.

"We just sent off the order yesterday," he whispered to Draco, showing him the letter.

"Must be because it was for Harry Potter," Draco said, his lip curling. "They must be trying to kiss a little arse."

"I have a little arse?" Harry said, deliberately misunderstanding.

Draco hit him lightly on the arm. "Don't be a prat. Let's get back to the dorm and check it out!"

"But I'm hungry!" Harry said truthfully. He was half-starved.

Draco made an unhappy noise and began to cram a sandwich into his mouth. Harry ignored the curious stares directed at the Slytherin table and calmly began eating.

When Harry had eaten more than was probably good for him, he picked up his new broom and headed for the dungeons, escorted by all his friends. Halfway across the entrance hall they found the stairs blocked by Weasley and his twin brothers.

"What've you got there, then?" Weasley asked, grabbing the package out of Harry's hands.

"None of your business, Weasley!" Tim spat, outraged at Weasley's rudeness and presumption. He drew his wand. "Give it back, or I'll hex you."

"That _is_ a broomstick," Weasley said, ignoring Tim and throwing it back at Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "I thought as much. You'll be in for it now, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

"Listen, Weasley," Harry began, his voice chilly, "nobody asked for your opinion. Now why don't you get out of our way? Or did you want to try dueling again? I hear you got into a spot of trouble the last time you dueled someone. Down in the dungeons, wasn't it?"

It was a cheap shot, but Harry couldn't resist. Who the heck did Weasley think he was anyway?

Weasley's face got red and ugly. "You know the truth of that as well as I do, Potter," he said, chewing his words angrily.

"So I do," Harry replied. "But you're outnumbered again."

"My brothers know more magic than you lot all put together," the younger Weasley boasted. Both of the twins nodded emphatically. Harry noticed that they were each keeping one hand out of sight.

Before Harry could retort, Professor Flitwick appeared on the scene. Short and squat, he only came up to Harry's chest, but he was still an authority figure.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Weasley quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor Snape told me about the special circumstances, Potter. Apparently you have quite the gift. What model is your broom, then?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the identical looks of horror and jealousy on the faces of all three Weasleys.

"Very good," the diminutive Professor Flitwick said cheerfully. "Well, do carry on."

Then he was gone.

"Tattling again, eh Weasley?" Draco said in the drawling tone he always used around Gryffindors.

"Apparently he didn't learn his lesson properly," Pansy said nastily.

"I think he needs a reminder," Tim chimed in.

The Slytherins smiled wickedly at the three Gryffindors.

"But later," Harry said. "After he's had time to think about things and realize what a big mistake he's made. Then if he wants to apologize, we can forget about the whole thing."

Faces burning, Weasley and his brothers moved out of the stairway. Ignoring the glares directed at them, the Slytherins made their way down the stairs and into the safety of the dungeons. Once they were beyond hearing range, they let their laughter loose.

"His face!" Tim gasped, wheezing.

"I thought he was going to die right there," Millie howled.

"And the twins!" Blaise was about to pass out.

They did finally make it to the common room, their laughter echoing off the stone walls the whole way. Everyone followed as Harry went to the boys' dorm. He undid the wrappings on his broom and it rolled out onto his bedspread.

"Wow!" they all exclaimed.

Harry had learned everything he knew about broomsticks from Draco. He thought this broom, the best in the world, to be a marvel. It was sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, a long tail of neat, straight twigs, and the Nimbus 2000 logo etched in gold near the top.

Marcus Flint knocked at the door.

"Afternoon, all. 'Lo Harry, I see your broom's arrived. Nimbus Two Thousand, excellent choice. Trials are to be next weekend, after luncheon, down on the Quidditch pitch."

Only a week away! "Thanks, Marcus," Harry said, excited.

"Cheerio!" Then he was gone.

"You're so lucky, Harry," Millie said, envy clear in her voice. "I'd give almost anything to have a chance to get on the team this year."

"I just want to fly some more," Harry replied.

Millie's face lit up as she got an idea. "What say the rest of us go nick some brooms and we can have a pick-up game?"

"Brilliant!" Tim exclaimed.

"There's only nine of us, dummy," Pansy pointed out.

"Lick my cauldron."

"One person can be referee, couldn't they?" Jenna asked. "I'll do that, I'm no good at playing."

"Four to a side?" Crabbe asked.

"Amazing," Draco said with a slight sneer in his voice, "you _do_ know your numbers."

"Shut up, Draco."

"Mind your tongue, fathead," Draco snapped.

"My head's not fat! And I'm bigger than you," Crabbe threw back. Draco made a rude gesture.

"To the Quidditch pitch!" Millie declared.

"No, first to the broom shed," Blaise corrected.

"Whatever."

Ten minutes later they were standing in the broom shed. Racks filled with brooms lined the walls of the single room, a mere three metres square. Dust covered most of them, except for the twenty or so which had been used by the Flying class.

"Ugh, a Cleansweep Two," Millie grimaced. "Those came out back in thirty-four. Is that a Comet One-Eighty?"

"Nineteen thirty-eight," Tim replied.

"Jackpot!" Blaise rejoiced. "Tinderblasts, a whole bloody rack of them!"

"Pretty slow," Pansy criticized.

"But they're solid," Blaise countered. "Even after all this time, they ought to be in good condition. I think they're the best we can hope for."

"No Nimbuses?" Draco asked, a note of despair in his voice. "Not even a One Thousand?"

"I think we're stuck with the Tinderblasts," Jenna said, picking one up. "Whoever else is going to play Seeker should take the Comet, though."

Draco sighed and picked up the Comet. "This is going to be even slower than my Two-Sixty at home."

"Stop complaining," Goyle grunted at him. "At least we get to fly some more and play some Quidditch."

"Thank Merlin!"

The Quidditch pitch was a breath-taking sight. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that spectators were high enough off the ground to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks that Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were ten metres high.

"Seekers pick your teams," Blaise declared.

"Crabbe and Goyle need to be split up!" Jenna interrupted, making a referee's call already.

The dastardly duo looked at each other. "It would be unfair to have us both on one team," Goyle said.

Crabbe nodded. "Yeah, we should be on different teams. Make it fair to both sides that way. We don't want to hurt anybody after all."

In the end it was Harry, Crabbe, Blaise, and Pansy versus Draco, Goyle, Millie, and Tim. Jenna was going to referee.

"How do we make positions?" Blaise asked.

"Seeker, Keeper, Chaser, Beater?" Millie suggested.

"That one Chaser is going to get a heck of a workout," Draco disagreed. "Are Bludgers strictly necessary?"

"Seeker, Keeper, and two Chasers? That could work," Tim said, nodding his head.

There was a general consensus, so the teams split up. Harry would be the Seeker, Crabbe would be the Keeper, while Blaise and Pansy played Chaser. On the other team, Draco had claimed Seeker, and he appointed Goyle and Millie to be the Chasers while Tim got to be Keeper.

Jenna opened the box of Quidditch balls that Goyle and Crabbe had carried down from the common room. She reached in and took the Quaffle. "Everyone mount."

They all kicked off into the air. Jenna released the Golden Snitch. It buzzed by Harry's head and vanished. Jenna threw the Quaffle into the air.

Millie immediately grabbed the Quaffle and threw it to Goyle as she dodged around Pansy. Blaise was waiting for it though, and snatched it out of Goyle's hands. She took off down the pitch towards Tim's goalposts.

Harry watched the action with interest. He'd never seen Quidditch before, and he was fascinated. His friends were moving along at pretty good speeds, despite using old Tinderblast brooms. The back and forth action of the Quaffle was dizzying, and hardly anyone held onto it for more than five seconds.

"Good thing we're not using Bludgers, eh Harry? Sitting there like that, you'd make a prime target."

Draco was laughing as he looped above and around Harry.

"Don't get cocky, Draco," Harry warned. "I'm riding the best broom in the world, and I'll eat you and your Comet One-Eighty for dinner."

Draco stuck out his tongue. "Your broom might be wicked, Potter, but you'll never match my skills!"

And Draco lunged at him suddenly. Harry gasped in surprise and ducked to his left, performing a barrel roll. He looked over his shoulder as Draco went dashing by and saw his hand outstretched, reaching for the Golden Snitch!

Harry leaned left and spun around in midair, then leaned forward and went hurtling after him. In a few seconds, even Draco's head start was negated as the Nimbus far outstripped the old Comet. Harry drew even with Draco.

"This thing is fast!" Harry called over.

Draco glared over at Harry's broom, envious. "I absolutely _must_ get Father to file a protest for me. This broom stinks! And I _will_ have a Nimbus for Christmas," he declared.

"Sorry, Malfoy," Harry called back, smirking, "but even if you do, I'll _still_ leave you sucking cloud!"

With that friendly taunt, Harry leaned forward and took off after the Snitch. He was very close to it, so close he could almost touch the small ball. It was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings. The Snitch was fluttering along frantically right in front of him, twitching, bobbing, and jumping around like a sugar-overdosed hummingbird.

"Damn it," he heard Draco cursing as the superior speed of the Nimbus widened the gap between them.

"Look out!" Blaise shouted, dodging out of his way. Harry hadn't noticed; he was intent on the Snitch.

Millie had just scored on Crabbe, earning her team ten points. The game ground to a halt as they all gawked at Harry in hot pursuit of the Snitch.

Up, down, left, right, in, out, over, under, around, and through the Quidditch pitch, the stands, and all the sky therein Harry chased after the Snitch. He frowned, twisting himself as he struggled to keep on the course of the zooming ball.

Without warning the Snitch cut a sharp right turn and took off on a completely different vector. Harry's hand flashed out to his side as he kept his course. There was a frantic wiggling in his hand, and there rested the Snitch.

"I've got it!" he shouted, holding it above his head and circling around. Everyone began to gather at the crate in the center of the pitch.

"Beautiful catch!" Blaise congratulated him, hugging him.

"Way to go!" Crabbe shouted, clapping Harry on the back with a big hand and sending him reeling.

"Nice job, Harry!" Pansy cheered.

"Stupid bloody Comet," Draco complained, shaking the broomstick.

"Heck of a catch," Goyle said to him, sending him reeling back the other way.

Tim caught him and kept him from crashing to the ground. "Not bad at all, Harry."

Millie was bouncing up and down. "That's a fast hundred-fifty points. A grand total of ten minutes!"

Jenna took the Snitch from him. "Excellently played, Harry. Everyone up for another game?"

"Mix up the teams," Tim suggested.

"No way, Nott," Pansy sneered at him. "You are destined to always lose." Then she stuck her tongue out at him.

Jenna rolled her eyes. "You two are so retarded."

"Mount!"

They took off into the sky again, and Jenna released the Snitch. She tossed the Quaffle into the air, and the game was afoot!

Harry had beaten Draco to the Snitch every time. It really hadn't been much of a challenge; the Nimbus left the old Comet in the dust. Draco had grumbled about it at first, but his mood brightened when Millie pointed out that Harry's speed was going to be an asset to the house team.

Thoroughly exhausted, they trudged back up to the castle. They'd missed tea time and were barely going to make it for dinner. Returning the brooms to the broom shed first, they carried the crate of balls back to the common room. Harry deposited his Nimbus on his bed, then he grabbed his bath things and headed for the showers.

As always, the perfect water temperature was blissful. He let the water cascade over him, washing away the dirt and sweat from the match. His sore muscles had declared war against him, but the heat and pounding rhythm of the water quickly soothed them.

He dried and dressed himself, then looked long and hard at his bed. It was tempting him to lay down and have a snooze. Telling himself that he needed to eat dinner, Harry promised himself that he wouldn't stay up late tonight.

When they were all clean, freshly-dressed, and well-groomed, the first year Slytherins walked through the dungeons and up the stairs to the Great Hall. They chattered animatedly about the upcoming Quidditch Cup, positive, now, that Harry was sure to win a place on the team.

Harry yawned all through dinner. Quidditch had given him quite a workout. He was tired, but he forced himself to keep his eyes and ears open. He listened for names of people who were also going to be trying out for the team, listening to the gossip about who had the best chances.

Jessica and Abraham were doing their duty as prefects and asking after the first years. When Harry's friends started to tell them all about the pick-up Quidditch games they'd played that afternoon, several of the older students became involved, and soon a dozen different conversations were going, all related to Quidditch.

It amazed Harry that people could get so wrapped up in Quidditch. Raised voices, pointing fingers, and waving arms were all part of the norm when discussing Quidditch. It was worse than when boys at his old Muggle school would talk about football, or when Uncle Vernon would argue politics with his friends.

After afters, Harry wanted nothing more than to seek his bed. He was too tired to be interested in more exploring of the castle with Draco and Tim, and the last thing he wanted to do on a Saturday night was read his school books.

He lay in his bed, alone in the darkness except for Goyle's snores which were audible even through two layers of thick velvet curtains. Though his body was tired, his mind was awake, and Harry's thoughts kept jumping all over the place. They were random thoughts, nighttime thoughts, but gradually they faded into blackness as sleep claimed him.

The next week flew by before Harry had even turned about twice. He was keeping his nose in his books and out of trouble, mostly at Tim's insistence. Between his own interest in Potions and Tim's near-encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and fungi, he did quite well for himself in both meetings of their Herbology class.

With Millie's help, Harry had been able to finally change his wooden matchstick into a silver needle, though he was still having some trouble managing to form the eye. Millie was optimistic in thinking he would achieve total success by the end of the month.

Harry slept in History of Magic, joining the rest of his classmates. Even Tim, the most studious of all the first years, closed his eyes and napped in what had to be the most boring lecture ever. Harry was convinced that Professor Binns' lectures were the cure for insomnia.

Charms was still interesting, even if it was still mostly theory. Just the other day, Professor Flitwick had pointed his wand at Blaise's kitten, Argent, and sent him zooming around the classroom, and they were all itching to try casting the spell.

Astronomy had rapidly become very tedious. The lessons were boring, something Harry hadn't expected. They had finished learning the astrological constellations, and now were learning about the planets and their moons. It had sounded fun when Professor Sinistra had given her overview of the course, but was rapidly proving to not meet his expectations.

Defence Against the Dark Arts had gotten a little better, with Professor Quirrell beginning to tell them about minor curses. It was nothing serious yet, so the first years continued their studies in the subject on their own terms.

Their Friday Potions lesson was without notable incident, which surprised Harry immensely. Still smarting from their detention with Professor Snape, Weasley and Finnigan were well-behaved. Finnigan seemed to still be irritated with Weasley; he worked with Dean Thomas, leaving Weasley to work with Neville Longbottom.

After lecture, the Slytherins made sure to be the first out into the hall. Professor Snape had shut himself in his office, so they knew they would be undisturbed. Each of the Gryffindors eyed Harry and his friends as they left the classroom, suspecting that they were up to something, which, to be fair, they were.

Finally Weasley, who was the last to leave, stepped out into the hall. When he spotted Draco and the rest, he froze in place.

"Now then, Weasley, you've had a whole week to think about what you've done wrong. Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself?" Draco asked, drawling his words as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Weasley swallowed hard. He was in a right fix, and he knew it. They had carefully timed this encounter, knowing that without his friends to back him up, the Gryffindor would let his true cowardice shine through.

"You're right, Malfoy," Weasley began slowly, and those simple words appeared to pain him. "I have given it some thought, and I was wrong to snitch to Professor McGonagall the way I did. It wasn't because I was afraid to duel you," he was quick to add, "or to get you in trouble."

"Is that so?" Draco said in his customary drawl. "I'm intrigued by your reasoning, then. Do go on."

"We were on our way to meet you," Weasley said hurriedly, "but old McGonagall nabbed us on our way out of the portrait hole, and we didn't have a choice. We didn't want to, but she made us tell her!"

"Is that a fact?" Tim said, a sneer in his voice.

Draco looked around at the others. Harry took a long look at Weasley, who was sweating, and nodded at Draco. "Well, well, will wonders never cease?" Draco drawled in a facetious tone. "Weasley can be reasonable. Now let's see if he knows how to apologize."

Weasley swallowed again. He really had no choice at all. "I'm sorry for tattling on you, Malfoy."

"There now, Weasley, was that so hard? I'm sure your Mummy would be very proud of you. Now get out of the dungeons."

Weasley gathered himself up, managing not to run, but as he rounded the corner, they could hear his footfalls as he ran for the light of day.

Saturday morning was bright and sunny, one of the last predicted nice days left of the summer. Though the temperature was only moderate, the sunshine made the whole world seem bright. A few fluffy clouds were strung out in the sky like cotton candy. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the forbidden forest.

Down at the Quidditch pitch, the Slytherin House team had gathered early. They were doing their warm-up exercises as those who hoped to make the team arrived, brooms over their shoulders. Harry felt nervous standing with these other children, most of whom were much taller than he.

Draco had scouted up the line, checking out not the hopefuls, but their brooms. He had gleefully reported back that nobody else had a Nimbus 2000. Most of the others had Cleansweep Sixes, but a few had model Sevens. Two girls had the latest Comet Trading Company model, the Comet 270. One third year boy, Charles Warrington, had a Nimbus 1700. Draco told Harry that his broom was the best of the lot. It was small comfort to his nervous stomach.

There were four open positions on the team; two Chaser positions and both Beater positions. In addition, with the starting Seeker having left school, Terence Higgs would have to defend his position. Tim had gone down the line as well, making inquiries. A lot of people wanted to be Seeker.

It was the position of glory, Harry had learned from all the stories he'd heard. All the positions were important, and each could make critical plays that could change the game instantly, but the Seeker was where the power lay. Only the Seeker could end the match, so it was a matter of being the quickest to catch the Golden Snitch, while the rest of the team kept the other team from scoring, so that the hundred-fifty points it earned would assure victory. Seekers were very important and were thus also the players most often fouled.

"All right you lot, we're going to get started," shouted Flint. "All who are trying out for Chaser get over here. You'll fly two at a time, and Bletchley and I will be judging your performance. Best six move on, and then we try for Beaters."

The first two candidates kicked off into the sky. Flint called various maneuvers out to them and they performed, tossing the Quaffle back and forth. Bletchley kicked off and went to guard the goal rings while they practiced taking shots at him. Neither was any good, Draco told him.

The next pair was a bit better, as was the pair after. Finally Flint called the last pair down, and made some notes on his clipboard. "Good," he said shortly. "Everybody stick around. Beaters! Over here! Now! C'mon, move!"

For this trial, Flint took to the air with the Quaffle in his hand, challenging the hopefuls to knock him off his broom, or to at least make him drop the ball. Both Bludgers were turned loose, and every hopeful took a bat into the sky with him. Bletchley was keeping notes on performance, using Flint's clipboard.

Flint could fly, nobody had any doubts about this. He flew literal circles around everybody else in the sky. Nobody even came close to nailing him with either of the two Bludgers. It was a pair of fourth year boys, Ivan Bole and Matthew Derrick, who did the best of them all, who whacked the Bludgers hardest, who turned to whacking their competition instead of their target.

One by one, the other hopefuls fell from the sky. Finally only those two boys were left, and veritable gorillas they were. They whacked their Beaters' bats together in triumph.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" Bletchley yelled up at them. "Flint! Get down here!"

Everyone sank down to the earth. Flint was grinning madly.

"Are you two insane?" Bletchley demanded of the pair.

Bole looked at Derrick. Derrick looked at Bole. "We couldn't touch Flint," Bole began. "So we figured we'd show what we got," continued Derrick. "Only way to do that was to take out the competition," Bole finished.

"Either way, I'm impressed," Flint said cheerfully. "You're both on the team for showing considerable initiative and creativity. It won't be that easy to nail the folks on the other team, mind, but you've got skills we can build on."

Bletchley fumed for a minute, then handed Flint back his clipboard. "Moving on," he said suggestively.

"Yes. Seekers!" Flint bellowed. "Great Scot," he muttered, looking at the fifteen people who stepped forward.

"Alright, this is how it's going to work. You're going to go in batches of five. I'm going to release the Snitch. The first one to get it moves on to the next round, and so on. Beaters will be practicing, as will the Chasers," he looked down at his clipboard, "Montague, Pucey, Warrington, Pritchard, Fawcett, and duMonde, your trial isn't done yet. Miles, get your arse up to those hoops. It's Warrington, Montague, and Pucey against Fawcett, Pritchard, and duMonde. Whichever team scores more points than the other will have a further trial, with two of you getting on the team.

"Seekers, nobody is looking out for you. Beaters will be trying to bean you with Bludgers, Chasers are going to get in your way, and other Seekers will try to take you out. That's the name of the game today, survival of the fittest. Get to the Snitch, and you move on to round two. You five," he said, pointing, "are first."

Harry was one of those five.

"Go Harry!" "You'll do great!" His friends were very encouraging, but Harry's stomach was filled with butterflies.

"In the air! I'm releasing the Snitch!"

Harry kicked off, wobbling just a bit. The Nimbus was heavenly, he decided, responding almost more to his thoughts than his motions. He looked around and saw that the other four would-be Seekers were all very confident, or at least hiding their nervousness well. The six Chasers began to circle; the two Beaters were whacking the Bludgers back and forth between them.

Flint tossed the Quaffle high into the air, and the game was on. Fawcett swooped in and snatched it, tossing it to Pritchard, who fumbled it. Montague plucked it out of her grasp and passed to Pucey. Pucey caught it, dodged around duMonde, and caught a Bludger to the ribs, dropping the Quaffle.

Fawcett grabbed it again and made for the goal rings, charging at Warrington, flipping upside down and cutting very closely beneath him. She faked a throw on the third ring, faked another throw on the first ring, and threw back to duMonde, who sent it soaring through the middle ring, much to Bletchley's disgust.

What a game!

Harry snapped his focus back to the Snitch. He had to find it! He scoured the field, hunting for it. It was easier now, with the bright sunshine, and he kept hunting for that speck of gold. One of the other Seekers took a Bludger to the head and sank down to the ground. That was good! His competition was now less.

Montague scored again, then Warrington scored, and then Pucey scored twice more. Montague's team was showing distinctly better teamwork and coordination.

Harry started as he caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye, but it was only somebody's wristwatch. Then out of nowhere, another Seeker came flashing past, hand out-stretched, the Snitch fluttering and fleeing a few feet in front. Harry bent over his broom handle and took off after.

In no time, he had caught up. The Nimbus 2000 was showing its value, and Harry was neck-and-neck with the girl. She was straining, leaning, reaching for that winged golden ball. He wasn't as long in the arm as she was, so he nudged his broom to go faster.

CRACK!

Harry's world was suddenly filled with blinding white pain. He wavered, losing the track of the Snitch, and his broom went off course. He clutched his shoulder, tears springing to his eyes. He saw the Bludger go arcing around and making another go, this time at the girl. She too was hit, and the Snitch escaped.

Harry fought back his tears. _Quidditch is a rough game_, he told himself. _I knew that getting into it. Just got to try harder and be more aware._

Two other Seekers had taken off after the Snitch when Harry and the girl had been ambushed by the Bludgers. He could still see the Snitch, frantically trying to escape. He angled his broom and sped off. Within seconds, he was right back where he'd been.

He was bumped and jostled and elbowed, but he refused to give up, giving back just as good as he got. He leaned forward even more, urging his Nimbus on, and began to pull away from the others. He reached out his hand, straining.

He had it! The tickling feeling of the wings was still the same, but he refused to open his hand. He gripped it firmly, making sure it didn't get away.

"I've got the Snitch!" he yelled, holding it up over his head.

Flint's whistle blew. All the Seekers dropped back down to the ground, and Harry handed over the Snitch.

"Excellent job, Potter. You make it to round two. Have a rest. Lot two, get in the air." Five more would-be Seekers kicked off.

"Snitch!" Flint bellowed as he released it. The game was afoot again. The Chasers kept chasing, the Beaters kept beating, and the Keeper did his best to stay alive.

"Way to go, Harry!" Draco said, slapping Harry on the shoulder. Whiteness filled Harry's vision, and he nearly fell to the ground.

"Easy," Tim said, holding him up. "What's wrong, mate?"

"Shoulder," Harry whispered, "Bludger."

Draco's face fell. "Oh no, I'm sorry, Harry! I didn't know!"

Tim looked around. "We don't have time to take him up to Madam Pomfrey. I could try to do something, if you want me to."

The pain was incredible. "Please?"

"Okay, brace yourself."

Harry didn't hear the incantation, but the pain seemed to recede slightly. He felt Tim's fingers probing at his shoulder.

"I don't _think_ anything's broken," he said doubtfully. "Hit you right _here_?"

Harry winced. "Yeah," he gasped.

"Well there's a phenomenal lump there, but I don't think your shoulder blade is broken. It feels like it's still in one piece. Let me try another spell."

The pain lifted some more. "Better," Harry said, taking a deep breath and speaking normally.

"Good," Tim said. "I'm sorry I can't do more, but I'm no Healer."

"It's all right, Tim," Harry said gratefully. "Thanks."

"Third group, in the air!" Flint shouted at the remaining Seekers.

"C'mon Harry, let's have a sit. You're going to need your strength for the next round." Draco was being very solicitous, leading him to a bench that had been set up on the sidelines.

Harry sat down with a thunk. He took deep breaths, trying to get the blood circulating through his body, bringing natural healing power with it. He wasn't watching as the last of the would-be Seekers finished their match. He was only trying to make the pain stop.

"Potter, Lapointe, and Drummond, get over here!" bawled Flint. "Higgs, where are you?"

"Nothing for it," Harry muttered, getting to his feet, and managing to walk levelly over to where the rest were.

"First of all, congratulations on getting this far. Now then, Higgs was reserve Seeker last year, so he's been bumped to first team; however, if one of you can get to the Snitch before he does, that means that _you_ are on the first team, and whoever can catch it next is on second team. Any questions?"

There were none.

"Good, in the air with you then!"

This was the moment of truth. This was where he would sink or swim. If he wanted on the team, he had to ignore the pain in his shoulder, fly straight, and catch that Snitch.

"Loose!" Flint called out, and the flash of gold went zooming by Harry. He wasted no time and immediately took off after it.

Bump, elbow, prod, zoom, it was all a blur to Harry, receding back behind the white haze of pain. All there was was the Snitch and those who wanted to take it away from him.

CRASH! went a Bludger as it smashed into Drummond, breaking up the knot of Seekers. Higgs had spied it and looped out of the way, and he was the first back on the Snitch's course. Harry broke off, wanting to avoid that Bludger. Higgs nearly had it, there was nothing for it.

Harry leaned back slightly, easing the forward momentum of his broom. Higgs pulled away, Lapointe hot on his tail. Reserve Seeker would be good enough. But wait! As Harry watched, the Snitch began a long, looping arc, coming back towards him! He put on a burst of speed and angled for an intercept.

He blind-sided Higgs, smashing into him with terrific force. The pain in Harry's shoulder almost made him black out, but he fought to keep his focus. His broom started wobbling, so he switched hands, reaching out with his injured arm. Just a little more speed! And he had it! He could barely feel it for all the pain he was in, but the Snitch was there in Harry's hand.

Flint's whistle blew. "Potter, come on down. Everyone else keep moving!"

Harry landed hard next to Flint. He handed over the Snitch.

"Congratulations Potter. I guess Professor Snape wasn't fooling when he said you could fly well. You've made the team."

Harry nodded absently, seeing his friends charging towards him from the side of the pitch where they'd been watching.

"You don't look so good," Flint said to him. He had a worried look on his face.

"I don't feel so good, either," Harry said and fainted, crashing to the grass in a heap.

to be continued...


	9. Halloween Adventures

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Nine - Halloween Adventures**

"Where am I?" Harry asked as soon as he was conscious again. Looking around, he saw that everything in the large room was white. He looked up at the concerned faces of his friends. Wait a minute, looked _up_? He realized he was laying in a bed with white linen sheets.

"Hospital wing," Draco answered, breaking off his conversation with Blaise. "You fainted after you made the team. Congratulations, by the way."

"I knew you could do it!" Millie said a bit too loudly, earning her a glare from Madam Pomfrey.

"Prodigious!" Blaise exclaimed. She was holding his right hand. Harry smiled slightly at her. Draco snorted.

"I fainted?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh Harry, we were so worried!" Blaise said. "We saw you hit the ground, but they wouldn't let us get near."

"How'd I get here?" he asked, touched that his friends had been so concerned.

"Flint kept everyone away and cast a spell," Draco told him. "You stiffened up like a plank, and he brought you up here himself. He would have stayed, but he had to get back to the trials."

Tim nodded. "That Bludger banged your shoulder up a treat," he said, "Madam Pomfrey said you'd had a bit of a shock, but that you'd be right as rain in a few hours."

"My shoulder doesn't hurt," he said thickly.

"She fixed you right up," Tim said. "Said I'd done a nice bit of work with my spells, too," he preened. Nothing made Tim happier than praise for good work.

"When can I leave?"

"Anytime you want to, dearie," said the matronly nurse as she bustled over. She pointed her wand at his shoulder and hummed to herself in satisfaction.

"Right as rain," she confirmed. "You'll be just in time for lunch. Go on now!"

Harry sat up and swung his feet around. He pulled on his trainers and got to his feet, waving off Draco's help.

"I'm hungry," he announced.

Blaise and Pansy giggled. Millie took his arm.

"C'mon, Seeker, let's go get you fed."

Perhaps it was because he was so busy now, what with Quidditch practice twice a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he crossed off the last day of October on his calendar. He'd been at Hogwarts for two months now, and the old castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had.

Harry was happy. It was a new feeling for him, and he found that he quite liked it. He had hardly dared to dream that life could be as wonderful as it had turned out to be. Whole days went by when he didn't even think about the Dursleys, those miserable Muggles who had tried to keep him down. His days were no longer filled with hunger, isolation, and verbal abuse, but rather with laughter and friendship.

His friends seemed to be a gift from heaven. Sure they had their quirks and their strange habits, but they were good people. They'd taken Harry into their House and into their hearts. Harry knew that if he ever had to make a stand, any of his friends would jump up to stand beside him, no matter the odds, no matter the opposition. And he would do the same for them.

His friends had helped him with learning the basics of magic, drawing them all closer together. Now that they had mastered those basics, their lessons were becoming more interesting. In Charms they had begun to work on levitation, the spell that Professor Flitwick had used to send Blaise's kitten, Argent, zooming about the classroom. So far they had focused on the wrist movement ("Swish and flick!") and properly pronouncing the Latin words.

On Halloween morning they came up into the castle proper led by their noses, which had been filled with the wonderful smell of baking pumpkin. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to actually try casting the levitation spell. He told the class to break into pairs and passed out a feather to each pair of students. Harry was partnered with Draco, though he could have quite easily worked with any of his friends.

"Now, remember to pronounce the words exactly and precisely," squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "One must never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest. Needless to say, he died instantly, and the buffalo was very confused. Also, make sure your wrist movement isn't overly exaggerated. Precision is very important."

It was not nearly as difficult as the Professor had made it all out to be. After a couple of tries, Harry was able to get the feather to move, and after a couple more, had the feather dancing and twirling in the air like a dainty fairy.

"Well done, Harry," Draco congratulated him, looking proud.

"Yes, well done, Mister Potter!" cried Professor Flitwick. "Five points to Slytherin!"

"My turn," said Draco, taking a light grip on his wand. Harry brought the feather back down to the desk.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Draco said firmly, and the feather once more took to the air.

"Excellent, Mister Malfoy! Another five points to Slytherin!"

All around the room came cries of triumph. Blaise and Tim had managed quite nicely, earning points, as had Millie and Jenna. Even Crabbe and Goyle had succeeded, though their feather flew neither high nor far; it had risen off the desk, and that was what counted. Only Pansy was having trouble; she'd managed to set her feather on fire, filling the room with a highly unpleasant smell.

Charms was their last class that day, so they holed up in the library afterwards to finish some homework. Professor Snape had assigned an essay on the Scintillating Solution that was due the following morning. They would actually be attempting to make the potion in one week.

When it was time for dinner, they all entered the Great Hall and stopped in their tracks. The Hall had been absolutely transformed. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, turban askew, and terror written across his face. Everyone stared in amazement as he tripped and fell to his knees in front of the High Table.

"Troll!" he gasped. "In the dungeons! Thought you ought to know." And he slid to the floor in a dead faint.

For a second nobody moved. Then someone screamed and a panicked uproar filled the hall. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"There will be order," he declared. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately. I will lead the teachers to the dungeons and we will deal with this troll. Quickly now!"

"Stay where you are," Elan Malfoy snapped at them. "There's no sense in creating a huge jam of people at the door. Someone will get hurt."

So the Slytherins waited patiently for the Hall to clear. Peter von Erickson, the seventh year prefect, appeared lost in thought, but when he spoke, he was perfectly cool and composed, very much in charge of the situation.

"Listen up, everyone. Because this troll is in the dungeons, I have decided that it would be too dangerous to try to lead you all back to the common room. We're going to the library instead."

"What will Professor Dumbledore say?" a frightened second year girl asked.

Peter's upper lip curled in disgust, though he said nothing inflammatory. "Sometimes the Headmaster is a little absent-minded. I'm sure it just slipped his mind that our common room is in the dungeons."

"It's going to be all right," Elan assured the girl, taking her hand. "The professors will take care of the troll, and you'll be snug in your bed tonight."

The girl (Harry thought her name was Samantha) smiled gratefully. The prefects stationed themselves all around the Slytherins, forming a defensive perimeter. The fifth, sixth, and seventh year students all had their wands out as well. Peter led the way towards the library.

Tim tugged at Harry's and Draco's robes, pulling the boys towards the back of the group and then ducking off to the side. He had a strange look to his face, a weird glint in his eye.

"What?" Draco asked, irritated, twitching his robes back into place.

"Let's go," Tim said.

"Where?" Harry asked, confused.

"To the dungeons!"

Harry stared at his friend. "Are you _insane_?" he hissed. "There's a great bloody _troll_ in the dungeons! Why do you think the prefects are taking us to the library instead of our common room?"

"I've read about trolls," Tim said. "I think we can beat one. C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"Fun?" Draco said incredulously. "Evidently this is some definition of 'fun' that I am unaware of. Tim, you're going to get us killed!"

"It's only a troll-"

"Only a troll?" Harry gaped at him. "You've been sniffing potion fumes in class, haven't you?"

"Look, I don't really think it'll be fun. But honestly, what a challenge! Don't you want to try your hand at something more advanced than feathers? We've been practicing hexes for nearly two months for what? Humiliating Weasley doesn't take that much preparation."

"It's quite a jump from feathers to trolls," Harry retorted. "I'd like a few intermediary steps, if you don't mind. Now come on. We're going to the library."

Tim shook off Harry's hand. "No way, no day. That troll is mine."

"You're out of your bloody mind!" Draco half-shouted, making a grab for Tim's robes.

Tim dodged neatly. "Come along if you want to," he threw back over his shoulder, and he sprinted down the hall.

Draco looked at Harry. Harry looked back, very unhappy. "You realize that we have to go after him," Harry said.

"We do?" Draco asked. "You mean he's not going to get what he deserves?"

Harry grabbed Draco's robes and began pulling him down the hall in the direction Tim had gone. "He's our friend, and we have to stick by him, even though he's gone potty. As soon as we save him, I'm going to hex him into next week, but right now he needs our help."

Draco changed the subject, pulling his robes free of Harry's grasp and straightening them yet again. "I wonder how a troll got in," he mused as they walked. "They're really stupid. No way it could have gotten in on its own."

"Peeves?" Harry suggested.

"Could be. Seems a bit out of his style though." This was clearly bothering Draco.

Harry stopped suddenly, holding up his hand for silence. They could both clearly hear hurrying footsteps.

"Elan's gone looking for us!" hissed Draco, pulling Harry into a shadowed corner. It was not Elan, but rather Professor Snape that they saw walking quickly through the corridor and disappearing through a secret passage.

"What's he doing up here?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't he be with the other teachers in the dungeons?"

"No idea. That passage leads to the third floor, though. What's up there that he's so concerned about?"

"Hey, there's Tim!"

Sure enough, Tim had stopped dead in his tracks and appeared to be deep in concentration. For a second they wondered at this, but then the smell hit them.

"Yech!" retched Draco. "Someone's been boiling old socks."

Indeed, the foul stench did seem like a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean. It was getting worse, and they soon saw why. First came the smell and second came the sound, a low grunting noise and shuffling footsteps made by gigantic feet.

Draco pointed down the passage, his face terrified. Something huge was moving towards them. It was horrible! Four metres tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs that were as thick as tree trunks with gnarled, horny feet. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

"Glad you could join me," Tim muttered, as they moved forward to stand near him.

"I thought Quirrell said it was down in the dungeons," Harry whispered. "What's it doing up here?"

"All sorts of people in strange places tonight," Draco replied. "So what's the plan? Does it include running far away from here?"

"No it doesn't" Tim hissed at him.

"So what do we do?" asked Harry.

"I'm not quite sure," Tim replied doubtfully. "We stop it, that's for certain, but now that I'm looking at this thing, I'm not quite sure I knew what I was doing."

"I could have told you that. I _did_ tell you that. So let's run away! Let the teachers take care of it!" Draco snapped. "We don't have a lot of options."

Harry shook his head. "They're all down in the dungeons except for Snape. And he looked busy, so let's not bother him. We're here now, and it's up to us to stop this thing before it hurts anybody." He looked at his two friends. "And who better than us? We're Slytherins, the best House at Hogwarts."

Draco and Tim grinned at him. "You got that right," Tim said. "So what's your idea?"

Harry drew his wand and pointed it, not at the troll, but at the giant club it carried. "I'm going to apply today's Charms lesson," he said. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The club was wrenched out of the troll's grasp and soared into the air. The troll stopped shambling along and stood blinking stupidly at its own weapon. Harry waved his wand a little, and the club smacked the troll in the head! It was stunned for a moment, but then it shook off its daze and roared in anger.

"Bonkers!" Draco exclaimed, drawing his own wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" he cried, pointing his wand at a marble pillar with an oil lamp resting on it. The pillar shuddered, then slowly rose into the air.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Tim echoed, pointing at one of the tapestries that hung everywhere in this castle. He brought the fabric up high, maneuvering it over the troll's head, and dropped it down, blinding it.

"Hit it!" Draco shouted, and both he and Harry began striking the troll about the head and shoulders with their floating, impromptu weapons. They got about six good hits in before, with a groan of pain, the troll tottered and crashed to the ground.

Everyone was frozen for a moment, not believing it was over. Then Tim laughed and twirled his wand in his fingers. "Up Slytherin!"

Draco was looking decidedly unwell. "Excuse me," he said faintly, "but I'm going to have a heart attack now."

"_What_ is going on here?" came a shocked and infuriated voice. The Slytherins turned to see Professor McGonagall standing nearby, her face pinched, her lips white from being pressed together, and her eyes flat and piercing. She looked very unhappy with them.

"Hello, Professor," Tim said nonchalantly. "How are you this evening?"

"None of your cheek, Nott," she snapped. "Why aren't you in your common room?"

"Well," drawled Draco, "seeing as how there was a troll loose in the dungeons, our prefects decided to take us to the library instead."

"Then why aren't you in the library?" she asked through clenched teeth, visibly trying to not give in to the urge to strangle the lot of them.

"A worthy question," interjected Professor Snape, coming onto the scene with Professor Quirrell close behind. He bent over to examine the troll. "This troll has been beaten quite severely." He stood up. "How?" he asked, his black eyes boring directly into Harry's.

"We applied today's Charms lesson, sir," he said, relieved to be speaking to his own Head of House, someone he knew would be on his side. "We used the Levitation Charm and just kept hitting it until it stopped moving."

McGonagall was staring at them in disbelief. Quirrell, looking ill, had leaned against the wall. He would glance down at the troll every few seconds and shudder before looking away.

Snape, however, was regarding his first-year charges with something akin to pride. "Yes, well, with such fearsome weapons, the outcome was inevitable."

"Of all the- Why I never- How could you be so stupid?" McGonagall burst out. "You could have been killed!"

"But they weren't," Snape said sharply. "And they prevented this troll from causing murder and mayhem here in the castle. Their methods were crude, no doubt, but no less inspired for it." He looked critically at them. "Twenty points," he said firmly.

Harry delighted in the look of consternation that crossed McGonagall's face. "Professor Snape," she began.

"Each."

"Now really!"

"The three of you may return to the Great Hall. I believe now that the troll has been taken care of, the Halloween Feast can continue as planned." Professor Snape's dismissal was great news, and the three of them dashed away. As they rounded the corner, they saw Professor McGonagall shaking her finger at Professor Snape, who looked profoundly unintimidated.

Back in the Great Hall, the students were beginning to return, their plates still as they had left them. Harry sat down and took a bite of his baked potato. It was still warm.

"Well," Tim said brightly, "that was an adventure."

Draco reached over and shoved his friend's face into his soup bowl. "Never do that do me again!" Tim was sputtering soup. "I am _not_ a bloody Gryffindor, I am _not_ bravely stupid, and I do _not_ enjoy facing certain death!"

"Draco, you're going to drown him," Harry said with his mouth full. He chewed faster and attempted to swallow.

"He deserves it!"

"Let him up." Draco held on another few seconds to make his point, then released Tim's head. Tim came up out of his soup gasping for breath, and groping for a napkin.

"You'll pay for that, Malfoy," Tim threatened. "I wouldn't sleep tonight, if I were you."

Of course they immediately told the story to all their friends, and within a day the whole of Slytherin House knew that the three first years had done a deed that any one student most likely could not have done. Harry got nods of respect from everyone whenever they passed him by.

No answers were forthcoming as to how the troll had gotten into the castle in the first place, but the students were all satisfied with the exciting story. Everyone wanted to hear the story first-hand, and the three Slytherins became instant celebrities. Well, the Gryffindors were stand-offish, but that was nothing new. Their attitude was always as chilly as the weather had turned.

Not a day into November, the weather became very cold indeed. The mountains around the school became icy grey, and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the windows on the upper floors going about his groundskeeper duties, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves (a whole rabbit for each hand!), and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun!

On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Gryffindor was in third place in the House Cup, though the points from winning the match would not let them take first place. Slytherin was already in first place, and they wanted to maintain that lead.

Harry's presence on the team had not been kept secret, so some people kept telling him he'd be brilliant, while others told him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress. Draco, Tim, and anyone else who knew what Harry was capable of doing usually laughed in the face of anyone who spoke like this, which irritated Weasley and his fellow Gryffindors immensely.

Last minute practices forced on the team by Flint made Harry even more grateful for his friends, who helped him get through all of his homework. His grades would have plummeted had he been left to his own devices.

The week raced by, and Harry's nervousness increased exponentially with each passing day. That Friday in Potions class, the tension in the air was unbearably thick. Vicious glares shot both ways across the room, and only the impending arrival of Professor Snape kept them from becoming more than glances. The door slammed, signaling the start of class as it did every Friday.

"Patil, what is the ratio of distilled water to dandelion sap in the Wart Removing Potion?"

Poor Parvati Patil was stuck working with Weasley. If rumour was to be believed, she'd apparently drawn the short straw this morning. Weasley had a different partner every class because none of the Gryffindors wanted to work with him anymore. So far, to Harry's knowledge, Weasley had not managed to brew a single potion correctly. Weasley was even worse at Potions than the hopelessly inept Longbottom. Whenever those two worked together, an explosion was almost guaranteed.

Weasley was always the first one to bolt from the Potions dungeon, anxious as he was to escape both Professor Snape and the Slytherins. His mistakes had lost Gryffindor scores of points, and earned him many biting, scathing remarks from the professor. He hadn't yet gotten slapped with a detention, but Harry was sure it was only a matter of time.

Harry stared in amazement as the Potions Master limped down the aisle. Professor Snape was a Slytherin to the core, yet he was limping, showing weakness. Something was seriously wrong.

"See that?" he whispered to Blaise.

She frowned. "He must really be hurt," she whispered back.

Curiosity consumed Harry all through the lecture. He was distracted to the point that he nearly added double the required amount of ladybug shells to his potion. Fortunately, Blaise was paying attention and saved him from ruining all their hard work. When she jabbed him in the side and told him to focus, he tried to concentrate. Professor Snape's apparent regard for Harry could slip away in an instant if Harry allowed himself to make mistakes. He didn't want to draw Snape's wrath.

After class was over, Weasley bolted and all the other students headed up to the Great Hall for lunch. Harry stayed behind. Snape had his head buried in one of the supply cabinets. He cleared his throat.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Mister Potter?"

"Are you alright, sir? I noticed you limping."

Snape's piercing black eyes bore into Harry's face as the Potions Master gave Harry his undivided attention.

"I appreciate the concern, Mr. Potter, but I am quite fine. A strained muscle this morning during my morning stretches."

Something about that didn't sound quite right, but Harry knew it really was none of his business. He nodded.

"Yes sir," he said. "We were just worried, is all. You know, about not showing weakness and such."

A cheek muscle twitched in Snape's stern face. "I see. Rest assured, I will be fine in several more hours, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again. "I'll see you at lunch then." He turned to leave, but something on the floor caught his eye. "Professor? What's this on the floor?" He lent over to touch it, and his fingers came away red.

"Nothing to be concerned about, Potter," Snape said, his voice taking on a slight warning tone.

Harry deflated. Snape obviously wasn't going to tell him anything. "Yes sir," he said and walked towards the door.

"Oh, and Potter?" came Snape's voice behind him. Harry turned around. The Potions Master grabbed a handful of his robes and leaned in very close. Harry noticed that his breath wasn't pleasant at all.

"You three foolishly endangered the reputation of Slytherin House," Snape said, his dark eyes burning a hole in Harry's skull, "and more importantly, your lives. I am responsible for your lives, and if you _ever_ act like a hard-headed Gryffindor again, you will _wish_ that the troll had gotten you. Do you understand?"

Too scared to speak, Harry nodded his head furiously. Snape released him and turned back to his tasks. Harry bolted for the door. On the walk up to the Hall, Harry's mind was in turmoil. Professor Snape was hiding something, but what? Was it even any of Harry's business? Snape was a teacher, he could certainly handle his own affairs. Why then, did it continue to nag at him?

Harry sat down with his friends, but he didn't take any food. Tim nudged him.

"Hey, what's eating you?" In a whisper, Harry told Tim about the conversation and Snape's guardedness.

"Harry, this is blood," Tim said, peering at the red liquid on Harry's fingers.

"B-blood?" Harry stammered. "Whose blood?"

"An excellent question indeed," Tim muttered. "Professor Snape was limping, and now you discover blood on the floor. There's more to this than a strained muscle. Something hurt Snape, something that can't be healed with common magic. Something else is preventing him from getting proper treatment for it. This is a mystery."

"Hey Draco," Tim said, waving the blond boy over. "Got any ideas about this?" He explained the situation and his own speculations.

Draco's eyes were very serious. "I have an excellent idea," he said, looking directly at Harry. "We saw him headed towards the third floor the night we fought the troll. How much would you care to wager that he had a run-in with that three-headed dog?"

Harry gasped. Images of that great vicious beast came back to him just as sharply as if it were in front of him again. "Are you saying that Snape is after that mysterious package from Gringotts?"

Draco frowned, his eyebrows coming together in deep thought. "That's what the evidence points to. The plot thickens."

Millie shoved Draco down the bench. "Hey, you're talking pretty loud, you know. I don't think any of the other students heard you, but Pansy and I heard you loud and clear."

Jenna leaned over. "I heard you too. We really shouldn't talk about this here, you know."

"Fine," said Tim. "In our practice room after lunch. Until then, not another word."

Harry couldn't eat. His stomach was in knots. He drank three glasses of milk to have something to do. He did his best to observe the head table inconspicuously, but he needn't have worried; Professor Snape never arrived.

After what seemed like forever, lunch was over and the now free Slytherin first years nearly ran from the hall. Harry followed as Jenna, Tim, Pansy, Draco, Blaise, and Millie made their way to the empty storage room.

"Okay, let's go over it from the beginning," Pansy said, "just to make sure we're not missing anything."

Harry recounted the story of his visit to Gringotts with Hagrid. Millie then told how Hagrid had been very evasive about the break-in and the _Daily Prophet_ article. Draco said that he and Harry had seen Professor Snape headed for the third floor on the night the troll had gone rampaging. Blaise reminded them all that the Professor had been limping earlier in the day. Harry concluded with the evidence he'd turned up after lecture.

"So that's all the solid evidence we have," Tim said. "Now then, my theory, which is based solely on the evidence, is that Professor Snape let the troll in to cause a distraction while he tried to get at whatever the dog is guarding, and the dog is what injured him, leaving him with that limp and causing him to be dripping blood on the floor."

"But that's absurd!" Jenna protested. "He's a teacher, he wouldn't be trying to steal something that Dumbledore is keeping safe."

Blaise snorted derisively. "Not all the teachers are saints, you know. And everyone can be tempted. What if it was a magic artifact or something with special magic powers? Remember, someone broke into _Gringotts_ to get at this thing. It's got to be important."

"Blaise is right," Draco said. "Everyone can be tempted. We've got to find out what that dog is guarding."

"How?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "I don't know. But we are certainly not going to go adventuring around the school to find out. Two near-death experiences is about all I can handle."

"Oh yes, Professor Snape told me that if we ever act so recklessly again, he'll make us wish the troll _had_ got us," Harry told them. "He said we shouldn't act like Gryffindors."

That got a few chuckles, and Tim looked a little ashamed of himself. "Anyone have anything else to add?" he asked, changing the subject. Nobody did. "Then I suggest we move on. Who wants to practice some curses?"

"We don't have our targets with us, you ninny," Pansy said with a sneer.

Tim considered this, scratching at his chin with his index finger. "Good point, Pansy. In that case, then," he said with an evil-looking smile on his face, "I volunteer - you. _Rictusempra!_"

"Sign the petition!" Millie said as a group of third-year Ravenclaws walked into the Great Hall. She was ignored. That was the last of them, now all the students were seated to dinner. She sighed in exasperation.

"We are the only people who've signed this petition," she said with disappointment.

"Not the _only_ people," Harry said, trying to keep her spirits up. "We did get a lot of Slytherins to sign."

"By having Elan threaten to give them detention," Draco said sourly. "Do you know I had to promise to do him a favour in order to get him to do that? An open-ended favour? I may never forgive you for this."

Millie had pointedly reminded them all that she had promised to circulate a petition for the creation of a school choir in order to smite an enemy of Slytherin House. Using guilt trips and unscrupulous tactics that Harry hadn't thought her capable of, she'd brow-beaten Draco into helping her with it. Harry had done so out of a sense of obligation. She'd made that promise to the Sorting Hat in exchange for the Hat sorting the Muggleborn Hermione Granger to Hufflepuff, the House of Duffers, in revenge for her rudeness and callousness towards Harry on the Hogwarts Express. What made it worse was that it had been Harry's idea (though not a serious one).

Harry didn't know if he could sing or not, he'd never tried. Still, a singing group sounded like fun, even if he had almost no free time. Hopefully things would lighten up after the first Quidditch match tomorrow. Harry shook his head. He'd been trying not to think about that.

"Well, well, what have we here?" came a well-known and hated voice. Ron Weasley, his friends Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan in tow, walked up.

"Weasley," Harry said coldly.

"Potter," came the reply, just as chilly.

"Sign the petition," Millie interrupted their impending fight.

"What petition is this then?" Seamus asked. He had no particular love for the Slytherins (especially not after Draco had so soundly hexed him, though to be fair, Weasley had gotten far more than he), but he didn't go out of his way to antagonize them the way Weasley often did.

"There isn't any sort of singing group here at Hogwarts," Draco told him. "We'd like to get one started."

Finnigan considered this. "Alright, where do I sign?"

Draco did a double-take. "Umm, right here," he said, handing over the petition.

Finnigan read through the wording briefly. "Hrmm," he mused. "Looks fair enough. Quill?"

Millie handed it to him, and he signed with a flourish. "There you are," he said, handing it back.

"Thank you," she said. "Anyone else?"

"I can't sing," Thomas said.

"Neither can Harry," Draco replied. "Didn't stop him."

Thomas considered this. "Sure, alright." He signed.

"Weasley?" Draco asked, managing to interject all sorts of insults into the question.

"No thanks," he said with irritation. "C'mon, let's go."

They entered the Hall.

"Well, that was unexpected," Harry said, surprised.

Draco chuckled. "It was worth offering it to them just to see the look on Weasley's face when his friends signed."

"The more people the better," Millie agreed. "C'mon, we'd better eat before the food gets cold."

As they sat down, Harry noticed Professor Snape seated in his usual place. He made a note to watch Snape carefully to see if he could spot any sign of that limp.

Chance had Harry sitting near Crabbe and Goyle, the two boys in his year that he knew the least. He knew they were best friends, had been since they were small- smaller, that is. They looked remarkably similar, which meant people often confused them. They both thought Herbology was boring, along with History (though they were certainly not alone in that!) Neither seemed to understand that a lack of knowledge of herbs and plants would hurt them when it came to Potions, which is why they were always doing badly down in the dungeons.

Where Harry despaired over Astronomy, though, Crabbe thought it was the best thing in the world. Thursday nights when everyone else was yawning and falling asleep at the top of the Astronomy tower, Crabbe would be bright-eyed and perky. Harry was at a loss to explain it.

Goyle, on the other hand, while he liked Astronomy, much preferred Charms. What he lacked in actual skill (not all that much), he more than made up for in enthusiasm. Once someone got him talking about the subject, it was difficult to get him to stop. At present he was telling Crabbe about the Engorgement Charm and the marvelous applications it could have on a pastry.

He and Draco were sitting across the table from the dastardly duo, Draco listening to them with the bored sort of interest, which meant that he was paying attention only until something better came along. Harry was distracted, watching the High Table for Snape to leave, trying to enjoy his dinner, and paying attention to the conversation around him.

"So I imagine if you used it on the last of the pie, you'd have more than enough pie to share," Crabbe said, his eyes losing focus as he spoke, his mind apparently drifting off.

"Oh for the love of Merlin," Draco snapped. "Is food all you can ever think about, you fathead?"

"Hey!" Crabbe protested. "My head isn't fat!"

to be continued...


	10. Something To Prove

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Ten - Something To Prove**

The sky that Saturday morning was bright, clear, and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages, and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

Harry's stomach was filled with butterflies. Though the food smelled delicious, he couldn't eat a bite.

"You really should eat something, Harry," Draco told him as he spooned hot cereal into his mouth.

"I don't want anything."

"Have a bit of toast, at least," Tim urged him, holding the plate in front of him.

Harry's stomach roiled. He pushed the plate away. "No thanks, I'm not hungry." He felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the pitch.

"Harry, you need your strength." Millie was sitting next to him, forking eggs onto his plate.

"Yeah," Pansy chimed in. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered the worst by the other team, you know."

"Yes, so I've heard," Harry said dryly, his nervousness finding an outlet in sarcasm. He didn't touch the eggs.

As the next hour passed, Harry played disaster scenario after disaster scenario in his head. Despite it being Saturday, Tim had his nose in a schoolbook, keeping his eyes on the text as he ate with his right hand. Harry was the only one who wasn't trying to conceal laughter as Crabbe tipped an inkwell into Tim's hot tea; he was too preoccupied to notice. Everyone else watched eagerly as Tim took a sip from his cup.

"Blech!" Tim sputtered as he spat his tea out. He looked down into the cup. "Ink! Who did that?"

Everyone burst out laughing. "It's not funny," Tim said, retching. "And someone is bloody well going to get hexed."

Pansy sniffed. "There's no need to use uncouth language," she berated him. "It's vulgar. And resorting to obscenities is the sign of a weak mind."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Blaise admired.

Draco snickered. "But you would have taken twice as long and used words that we couldn't understand."

Blaise glared at him and stuck out her tongue.

Tim had packed his book away. Glowering at everyone, he excused himself to go brush his teeth again.

Finally Marcus Flint came over and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, bringing him out of his fearful imaginings. "All right, Harry?"

Harry tried to answer, but all that came out was a croak. Flint grinned at him. "Not to worry, two winks after we kick off, you'll be moving too fast to be nervous. C'mon, let's go get you suited up."

"Good luck Harry!" everyone wished him.

Flint chattered amicably at him while they made their way down to the changing rooms. The rest of the Slytherin House Quidditch Team met them partway down: Miles Bletchley, Desmond Montague, Adrian Pucey, Ivan Bole, and Matthew Derrick.

Bletchley handed out uniforms as Flint, the oldest among them, used transfiguration magic to make all the bits the proper size. Harry and the rest began to change as Flint cleared his throat.

"Now then, men, we have a very important match in just a few minutes."

"Shocking," Bletchley interjected.

"We're currently in first place for the House Cup, and we have to keep that lead. Gryffindor is in third place, and not even winning this game can let them take first. But since we want to take the Quidditch Cup as well, again, for the seventh year in a row, we can't give them even a single break."

"Not even a broken bone?" asked Bole, sounding profoundly disappointed.

Flint grinned wickedly. "Okay, we can't give them even a single chance. And we try to give them as many breaks as possible."

Bole smiled beatifically, his expression matched by Derrick.

"Wood still hasn't managed to find a Seeker worth his salt, so Harry's going to have an easy time of it," Flint continued, giving Harry an encouraging grin. "And I say we take advantage of that. Bole, Derrick, if their Seeker," he consulted his clipboard, "Lois Panning, gets anywhere near the Snitch, you take her out. Harry, I want you to keep out of the way as much as possible. That way we can rack up the points and bury Gryffindor's chances at taking either Cup this year. When we get, oh, say a hundred points up, then go after the Snitch. Unless I fly by and tell you otherwise, of course. Or, if you seriously think that we're in trouble, then go after it and win the game for us.

"Bole, Derrick, those Weasley twins are good Beaters, and they have experience. You'll be responsible for protecting the rest of us. Fly quick, and if you can take out either of them, do it.

"Pucey, Montague, we've got to go out there and out-fly them. The three girls Wood has flying Chaser are all lighter than any of us, so they're going to be quicker. We've practiced how to compensate for that, and I want to see you both using the moves I've taught you. I'm the experienced one, so they're going to be watching for me to take the lead on any aggressive action. We'll use that against them as much as possible. You both fly well, and I know you're capable of doing this."

Bletchley sniffed. "Oh, I can feel the love," he said, sounding totally sincere.

"Shut your noise, you," Flint snapped back good-naturedly.

"No words of advice for me, Flint? I'm crushed."

"Yeah, don't let the Quaffle get by you," Flint ribbed him. "For every time you let the Quaffle in, you have to buy me a butterbeer at the next Hogsmeade weekend."

Bletchley snorted. "Yah right," he scoffed. "How about no?"

Flint grinned again. "I've got a good feeling about this game. Let's go out there and show Hogwarts what Slytherins are made of."

"Yeah!" they all cheered, and picked up their brooms.

Harry caught sight of his reflection as they walked out towards the pitch. The emerald green robes of the House team looked good on him. With the protective equipment he was wearing, he even looked a little fierce. Harry drew that image into his mind and fixed it there.

The roar of the crowd greeted them as they stepped out of the tunnel. Slytherin supporters waved flags and shot firecrackers into the sky. Green and silver confetti drifted down.

"Harry!" It was Tim's voice and Harry turned, seeing him running up as fast as he could. "I think I've got something that can help you!" Tim said, breathing heavy. He drew his wand and pointed it directly at Harry's nose.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded, slapping Tim's hand away. "Don't just point a wand at me!"

Tim's lips twisted in a wry grin. "A little tense, are we?"

"What do you want?" Harry snapped, irritation at the break in his concentration making him short with his friend.

Tim pointed his wand at Harry's nose again. "_Occulus reparo_," he intoned. Harry felt a jolt, almost like static electricity, strike his glasses. His nose tingled for a moment and he scratched at it. Then he pulled off his glasses to see that where he had previously used cello tape to hold them together in one piece, now the frames were whole, solid. The lenses were buffed to absolute smoothness, not a scratch in sight. They looked brand new, and Harry marvelled. The Dursleys had gotten his glasses secondhand, and they'd always been a bit beat up (and so had Harry, thanks to Dudley).

"I found that this morning. I would have had it at breakfast except _someone_ put ink in my tea." He was obviously still hacked off about that.

"Thank you," Harry said, genuinely touched by Tim's gesture.

"You're welcome," Tim replied, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Can't have our Seeker unable to see properly, can we?" He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Best of luck, mate."

Harry walked towards the center of the pitch with the rest of the team. Both teams circled around the crate, taking their starting positions. Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, stood in the center with her broom in hand, glaring at them all.

"Now then, I want a nice clean game, all of you," she said, staring directly at Flint. His face took on an innocent expression.

"Mount your brooms!"

Harry straddled the smooth wooden handle of his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch's silver whistle gave a piercing shriek. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off!

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor. What an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

"JORDAN!"

Harry didn't know the boy who was providing the play-by-play action, Lee Jordan, but Flint had warned Harry to pay him no mind. Though he was minded by the stern and impartial Professor McGonagall, Jordan still let his Gryffindor bias show.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet. She's a great find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve. She passes back to Johnson- no! Intercepted by Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint! He's heading up the pitch, he's flying like an eagle up there. He takes a shot- no, a fake throw and a pass back to Chaser Adrian Pucey. Pucey puts it through the far ring, phooey, ten points to Slytherin."

Cheers rose from the Slytherins and their supporters. Howls and moans of dismay could be heard from the Gryffindors.

"Gryffindor back in possession, and Wood passes up to Chaser Katie Bell. She dives around Flint, she's in the clear, nobody around her- OUCH! She takes a Bludger to the back of the head sent by Beater Ivan Bole. That had to hurt, I hope she's alright. The Quaffle is scooped up by Dezzy Montague of Slytherin, and he passes to Pucey. He goes for the shot, no, he's blocked by a second Bludger sent by George Weasley. Or is it Fred? Nobody can tell these two apart, but nice play by the Gryffindor Beater in any case. Johnson in possession, clear skies ahead. Wow, she's really moving! She takes the shot, she's got it! No! How did he do that? Keeper Miles Bletchley pulls off some sort of miracle and manages to block a perfect shot."

Jordan sounded as dismayed as the rest of the Gryffindors who had all started to cheer in anticipation of the ten points. Slytherin supporters roared in approval.

"Slytherin in possession," Jordan continued. "Chaser Pucey dodges a Bludger, a Weasley, the other Bludger, the other Weasley, and Chaser Bell. Looks like nothing can stop him, and- wait a minute, was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Pucey dropped the Quaffle, busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had zoomed by him.

"Pucey!" howled Flint. "You're not the bloody Seeker! Keep your eyes on the Quaffle, you divvy!"

Harry saw it too; it was definitely the Snitch. His nervousness had vanished the second he'd kicked off, and now excitement filled him as he dove for the Snitch with a great whoop. Gryffindor Seeker Lois Panning had seen it too, and they converged right behind the Snitch. Neck and neck, they hurtled along at tremendous speed. The Chasers all seemed to have forgotten their jobs and hovered in mid-air as they watched the fight for the Snitch.

Harry was faster than Panning. He could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead. He leaned forward a tad more and began to edge away from Panning and her Cleansweep Six.

WHAM! All the Slytherins called foul as a Weasley managed to "accidentally" get in Harry's way. Harry's broom spun off course, and Harry did his best to hold on. Madam Hooch had a harsh word for Weasley, but the Snitch had vanished again.

Bole aimed a Bludger at Panning, determined to hit her.

"Potter doesn't seem to know how to fly straight and nearly kills the Gryffindor Beater-"

"Jordan!"

"It could happen to anyone, I'm sure. No penalty shot, as there was no foul, and Gryffindor is in possession."

It was as Harry dodged a Bludger that had been rocketing towards his head that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he was convinced that he was going to fall, and his short life passed before his eyes. He gripped the handle tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. Harry was scared now, it was as though the broom were a wild horse that was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Something was seriously wrong. He tried to turn. He had to get a time-out called and figure out what was wrong with his broom.

He couldn't turn. Harry was near panicking now. The broom was completely out of his control. He wasn't able to turn. He wasn't able to steer. He couldn't direct the broom at all. It was zigzagging through the air, every so often making a violent swishing movement that nearly threw him off.

Jordan was continuing on as though nothing were wrong. "Slytherin in possession. Flint has the Quaffle, no Pucey, no Montague, no Pucey, these three are playing fast and furious. Looks like a Hawkshead Attack Formation to me, with Montague on the point. Flint tries to be a Beater and uses his face to whack a Bludger. Hope it didn't hurt him _too_ much. But Montague puts the Quaffle away, oh no."

The Slytherins were cheering. They'd been making lots of excellent shots, and despite Wood's abilities as Keeper, had taken the lead. Nobody seemed to have noticed that Harry was in trouble. His broom was gradually carrying him higher and higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"What's Harry doing?" Tim asked as he peered through his binoculars.

"Has he lost control?" Millie said, instantly worried.

"He can't have," Draco said, puzzled. "He's a great flyer."

"Then what's wrong?" Pansy demanded.

Blaise shrieked as Harry's broom began rolling over and over to the side, with Harry just barely holding on. Then it bucked again and Harry was swung right off! He was holding on with only one hand!

"Did something happen to it when Weasley blocked him?" Jenna asked intently.

"No third year Gryffindor could cast Dark magic powerful enough to mess with a Nimbus Two Thousand," Tim disagreed. Then something occurred to him and he raised his binoculars. "I don't believe it," he said, his voice carrying his shock.

"What?" Millie asked, still looking up at Harry.

"Professor Snape is casting a jinx."

"What?" Pansy demanded, ripping the binoculars from his hands, nearly ripping Tim's nose off as well. "Where?"

"Ow, straight ahead," Tim replied, holding his nose.

"Well, I don't have Professor Snape, but I can see Professor Quirrell muttering something."

"Quirrell!" Blaise exclaimed. "What's going on here?"

"One of them must be casting the counter-jinx," Tim said, his voice sounding very odd. He was still cradling his nose.

"But which is which?" Millie asked, frustration clear in her voice.

"Which witch is which?" quipped Jenna.

"This is no time for jokes, Jenna!" Blaise half-shouted at her. "Harry's about to fall off!"

Flint had directed the other Chasers and the Beaters to fly a pattern below Harry, while he himself, the most experienced Chaser, tried to get close enough to snag his Seeker off the possessed broomstick. Each time he tried to dart at Harry, the broom kept rising higher, still Flint did not give up.

While the Slytherins were busy, the Gryffindor Chasers blitzed Bletchley with shots. He did his best to block, but was quickly being worn down, and Gryffindor's score began to catch up. Then Bletchley missed another shot, and the score was tied at sixty points.

"I'll take care of it," Goyle said, getting to his feet. "Move out of my way!" he bellowed, shoving anyone who dallied too long. Within seconds he was out of sight below the stands.

Goyle lumbered towards the section of the stands where the teachers were sitting. While the others would fret about details, Goyle had heard all he needed to. Either Snape or Quirrell was jinxing Harry's broom, and that meant they both had to be interrupted. He'd leave the figuring out of it all to those who were quicker of thought than he. If there was a man of action, his name was Gregory Goyle.

He finally reached the section roped off for staff members and guests of the school. He peered up through the slats. There was Quirrell, muttering away just as Pansy had said. He drew his wand.

"_Incendio,_" he whispered, sending a small jet of flames onto his teacher's robes. He moved on, looking for Snape. Quirrell's robe would catch; he was confident in his own skill.

"_Incendio_," he whispered again, lighting Snape aflame as well. Then, sure that it would be enough, he turned and ran as fast as he could. He might be a little slow, but he was no fool to stick around.

"Quirrell, you're on fire!" someone shouted. Hagrid tackled him, smothering the flames with his own body.

"Severus too!" cried a female voice. Hands slapped at him, trying to extinguish the flames.

"_Aquamenti!_" Professor Flitwick cried, drenching the Potions Master from head to toe.

Up in the sky, Harry's broom stopped shaking. He grabbed on with his other hand, clinging desperately, praying that it wouldn't throw him off. It stayed calm. He swung himself back and forth and managed to hook a leg over the handle. With a heave and a grunt, he pulled himself back up to the top and hugged his broom, breathing heavily.

"And Potter is ok!" Lee Jordan announced to the whole stadium. "Though I can barely see him, it appears that Harry Potter has managed to regain control of his broom. Whatever problem that wonderful Nimbus Two Thousand had with a sneaky Slytherin riding it has apparently been solved."

"Jordan!" snapped Professor McGonagall.

"And the score is tied at sixty points each. Come on girls! You can do it!"

The Slytherin Chasers dived at the Gryffindors in a perfect attack formation. Bell shrieked as Flint came lunging in, howling an insane warcry. He snatched the Quaffle from her and charged towards Wood, looking for all the world like a madman.

THWACK! came a hideous sound, as Bole and Derrick perfectly executed a Bludger Backbeat, sending the iron ball rocketing with insane momentum towards Wood.

Wood's eyes got wide, big as saucers. His face paled, becoming as white as the sheets in the Hospital Wing. His own Beaters were out of position. He swallowed visibly and tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening. He spun around and knocked the Quaffle away with the tail of his broom, then a half-second later, took the full brunt of the Bludger flush on his back. He cried out in pain and momentarily lost control, but he held on. Wood righted himself with effort, but drifted around like a drunk, clearly hurt.

Pucey scooped up the loose Quaffle and sent it soaring past a disabled Wood to score. Johnson gained possession, but was cut off by Flint, still howling his warcry, who stole it from her.

It was turning into a rout. Bole and Derrick had clearly incapacitated Wood, and without a Keeper, Gryffindor's chances were sunk. One of the Chasers might guard the rings, but she would not have Wood's experience. The two remaining Chasers could never beat three, not with the way Flint had gone insane.

Harry took it all in, watching as Bole targeted Panning yet again, and she barely avoided being creamed by the Bludger. They'd pretty much forgotten about Flint's instructions to nail her only when she got near the Snitch. If the Seeker was injured, their team couldn't win.

The stands began to murmur, the Gryffindor supporters clearly disgruntled with how the team was getting their collective clocks cleaned by the Slytherins. Many of them turned to leave, not wanting to see the end of it. Slytherin was a hundred points up, one sixty to sixty.

Well, time to go to work, thought Harry as he looked about for the Snitch. Good grief, it was toying with Panning, hovering all near and around her, but Bole and Derrick were making it impossible to grab. Harry leaned forward and zoomed towards it.

Sensing danger, the Snitch tried to flee, but Harry had too much speed. Then, as he sped by, employing a tactic he wouldn't have expected from the honest-to-a-fault Gryffindor, Panning knocked her broom into his! Harry lurched forwards, came near to losing his grip again, and he instantly headed for the ground.

He almost crashed, but fell off and to his knees. He retched, gagged, and spat up something shiny into his hands. Tiny fluttering wings shot out of the little golden ball, and he wrapped his fingers around it.

"I've caught the Snitch!" he yelled.

The Slytherins and their supporters all let up a tremendous cheer. The whole team began to converge on him.

"Way to go!" Flint shouted in his ear, nearly deafening him. He picked Harry up and swung him around in a circle. Bole and Derrick bruised his shoulders with their slaps of congratulations. Pucey and Montague raised him up in the air.

"Let's hear it for Harry!" Bletchley shouted.

"He didn't catch the bloody thing, he swallowed it!" one of the Weasley twins was bellowing, clearly highly offended.

"Don't you dare call that Potter's Pass!" the other echoed. "That was the biggest mistake I've ever seen on a broom!"

"Bastards!" cried a still loopy Wood. "Miserable, sodding Belgian bastards!"

"The final score, after that completely unintentional um, er, _catch_ by Potter puts Slytherin at three hundred ten, Gryffindor at sixty. Well, there won't be any celebrating in Gryffindor Tower tonight."

Harry managed to get away from the riot that was developing and was pulled aside by Tim, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. They ducked behind Hagrid's hut.

"Harry, are you okay?" Draco asked instantly.

"I'm fine, just a little scared," he replied, the adrenaline rush beginning to fade away, leaving only weary exhaustion behind.

"Someone was jinxing your broom," Tim told him.

Harry's jaw fell open. "Jinxing my broom? How?"

"Not how, who," Draco corrected.

"It was Snape," Tim said, leaving no room for argument.

"Bollocks," Crabbe snapped. "Quirrell was casting too! I saw him with my own eyes, I did!"

"One of the two was jinxing and the other was counter-jinxing," Goyle explained to Harry. "We don't know which was which, so I set 'em both on fire to break their eye contact."

"So it were you!" came a booming voice. They all cringed and turned to see Hagrid standing there, arms folded, disapproval written clearly across his face.

"Hagrid, listen, please!" Harry begged him.

"Lightin' teachers on fire, what sorta dark business are y'all about? Goyle is it? Well yer comin' up ter the Headmaster's office right now!"

"Hagrid, he was saving my life!" Harry cried. "Did you hear everything? Either Snape or Quirrell was jinxing my broom!"

"Rubbish!"

"Snape must know that I know he tried to get past the three-headed dog on Halloween," Harry said, desperately trying to persuade Hagrid that something funny was going on.

Hagrid's jaw dropped. "How'd you find out about that?" he asked, completely thunderstruck.

"We ran into the dog while running away from Filch one night. Then we saw Snape headed to the third floor on Halloween, and the next day he was limping and I found blood on the floor in the dungeon," Harry answered.

"Well, at least Fluffy's doin' 'is job," Hagrid said, looking pleased.

"_Fluffy_?"

"Yeah, he's mine. Got him from a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. He's here at school to guard-"

"Guard what?" Tim asked, insanely curious.

"Never you mind."

"That package from Gringotts, right Hagrid?" Harry said, looking intently at the large man.

"What're ye doin' talkin' 'bout that, 'Arry? I told yer, t'were secret Hogwarts business!"

"It wasn't hard to figure out something funny's going on, Hagrid. Between what happened at Gringotts, the dog, the limp, the blood; every one of these things is odd."

"From there we just used a little logic," Draco drawled.

Hagrid's face got dark. "All of yer had better just leave this puzzle alone. Yer meddlin' in things wot are none o' yer concern. Ferget the dog, ferget about the package from Gringotts. That matter's strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel."

"Flamel!" Tim said triumphantly.

Hagrid got red in the face. "Out o' here, all of yer! Back to the castle! Now!"

They ran.

to be continued...


	11. Once Again, With Feeling

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eleven - Once Again, With Feeling**

After the Quidditch match, the girls had gone back to the dorm while Harry and the rest of the team changed out of their robes. The boys had snagged Harry as he left the changing rooms and pulled him behind Hagrid's hut to share the news about Snape and Quirrell. After they'd tricked the name 'Nicholas Flamel' out of Hagrid, they'd run back to the safety of the dungeons, and Tim had begun digging frantically through his box of Chocolate Frog cards.

"Where is it?" Tim half-shouted as he rummaged.

"Where's _what_?" Draco snapped at him. He was irritated; Tim had been ignoring all questions for the past few minutes.

"He's _got_ to be here!"

"Are you saying that Flamel is on one of your bloody cards?" Draco asked, clearly driven past politeness.

"I _know_ he's on one, I just don't know where it is!"

"Good luck digging through that odd thousand," Crabbe chimed in.

"Yeah," Goyle said. He looked at Harry. "Should we go tell the girls what we found out?"

"Definitely," Harry agreed. "They're clever, and the more clever folks we have working on this puzzle the better."

Harry pulled his cloak around his shoulders and followed Goyle out into the corridor. "Goyle, I want to thank you for helping out today. You probably saved my life." Harry didn't talk with Goyle a whole lot, but the boy was clearly a good person, so that situation would have to change.

Goyle blushed slightly. "Aw, it was nothing," he said. "You're my friend, Harry. I know I'm not quick, but I had to do something."

"Well I definitely appreciate it."

Goyle grinned at him and clapped him on the back with a big hand. "You watch my back, I'll watch yours."

Harry tried not to wince as his knees nearly buckled. Goyle was a strong boy. He knocked on the door in the girls' half of the corridor with the plaque reading 'First Years'. There was a short delay, then Blaise opened the door.

"Harry!" she cried, her worry evaporating like morning dew. She threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "We were so worried! I thought you would plummet to certain death!"

Harry made a muffled sort of noise; he had accidentally got a mouthful of her loose, golden blonde hair. He hugged Blaise back, hard. He had hugged her several times since their talk on the battlements so many weeks ago, and the hugs always felt nice. Now he would never turn one down.

Soon Millie, Pansy, and Jenna were also hugging him. Harry wondered how anyone could say that Slytherins were cold and uncaring. His friends were the best people in the world.

"You're not hurt at all?" Pansy asked him again.

"I'm fine," he said. "Thanks to Goyle, that is." Goyle started flushing again.

"This great lunk?" Jenna said, ruffling the big boy's hair.

"I just started a couple of fires," Goyle said, clearly not used to being the hero.

"But that's just what was needed." Millie turned to Harry. "That's how jinxes work, see. If you're casting a jinx, you have to keep constant eye contact. You can't even _blink_."

"Draco and Tim told me all about what they saw. No clue whether it was Quirrell or Snape?" Harry asked.

"None," Jenna sighed, sitting down on her bed. "I thought it was all a bunch of poppycock myself, but I saw Snape going muttery-muttery. Then I saw Quirrell going muttery-muttery. So I don't know _what's_ going on."

"Well I've got a bit of a clue that might help us figure out what's on the third floor," Harry interjected. He related the name that Hagrid had let slip: Nicholas Flamel. None of the girls recognized the name; Harry saw a bunch of blank faces.

"Well," he sighed, "Tim is tearing through his Chocolate Frog cards. If this Flamel is at all important, he'll be on one of those cards."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Millie asked. She pulled off her pointed hat and threw it on her school trunk in frustration. "Whoever it was might try again."

"What I don't understand is why you're all so ready to say that Quirrell is the bad guy," Goyle said, sounding confused. "Why would he be trying to kill Harry? He's not the one Harry saw sneaking around on Halloween."

The girls all looked back and forth at each other. Had they really overlooked that?

"Could Goyle have actually figured it out?" Pansy asked everyone. "Someone mark it down on the calender."

"If it's not Professor Quirrell," Blaise declared, "then we must deduce that Professor Snape is the miscreant."

"But Snape seems to like me," Harry protested. "After the first week I think I became one of his favourite students."

"I thought I was his favourite. He's always writing positive comments in my homework. Does he do that with you too?" Blaise questioned. Harry nodded.

"Then we still don't know what the blazes is going on, do we?" Millie asked, still sounding frustrated.

"Someone talking to me?" Blaise asked, snickering.

"Oh be quiet," Pansy sighed. "This is serious."

"So it's still a big mystery?" Millie questioned, not letting the point go unanswered.

"Guess so," Jenna said. "Oh well, at the rate we've been getting new clues, it won't be long now before Hagrid slips up and spills the tea."

Millie and Harry locked gazes. "He definitely knows what's going on," she said tentatively.

"No doubts," he said slowly.

"Do you think we ought to try to be a bit friendlier and see what information we can sneak out of him?" she asked him.

"Probably our best lead right now." Harry sighed. Hagrid had been decent enough, but he'd seen the big fellow drinking large quantities of wine every night at dinner. The rumours that Hagrid was a drunk were proving to be true.

"Are you actually suggesting spending more time with that foul-smelling ox?" Pansy sniffed derisively.

"Someone tried to kill me," Harry said firmly. "Before it was just a puzzle; now it's personal."

"Veracious!" Blaise cheered. "And when someone takes on one Slytherin, they'd do well to remember that we travel in packs."

The month of November slid by with little notice. Classes continued, as they were wont to do. The weather turned colder, and snow began to fall nearly every day. Clouds regularly filled the sky, ruining their Thursday night sky-watching.

Professor Sinistra complained bitterly about the state of the night skies, but she could do nothing about the clouds. She tried to reschedule their night-time gazing, but in the end, she threw her hands up and said she just didn't care anymore.

Astronomy had gotten interesting again, now that they were no longer doing rote memorization of star constellations. Now they talked about the planets, still learning the names of the moons, and studying their orbits, as well as delving into the mythos.

They made no further progress on discovering the identity of Nicholas Flamel. Millie's idea of sneaking the information out of Hagrid hadn't yielded results yet. She and Harry had taken to having tea with the big man every Friday afternoon, but he always guarded his speech carefully. Hagrid _knew_ what they were trying to do, but apparently couldn't bring himself to tell Harry to not come back.

Draco had put his foot down; he made it clear that under no circumstances would he be roaming around the school at all hours looking for clues. He'd had quite enough adventures, though he described them as near-death experiences, thank-you-very-much.

So the question of just what was hidden in the third-floor corridor became of less and less importance. The Slytherins became more and more occupied with Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry's time was further taken up by Quidditch practice. He often returned to the dungeons more closely resembling a popsicle than a boy, and the others regularly came to watch the team practice.

Perhaps most important to the Slytherins was keeping their word, Millie's word, to the Sorting Hat. Every night they loitered in the entryway to the Great Hall, cajoling their fellow students to sign their petition. By the last week of November, they'd collected what Millie deemed to be enough signatures, and had turned the whole thing in to Professor Snape after Potions class.

He'd raised an eyebrow, though he knew about their petition as all the staff did, and it was a mark of his confidence in them that he merely nodded and told them that it would be in the Headmaster's hands by dinner. That evening, after the plates had been emptied, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

"I have received a petition initiated by the first year students of Slytherin House for the formation of a school choir. Now as you know, music has a magic all to itself, so I'm very pleased to announce that on Monday evenings after dinner, the new Hogwarts School Choir will meet right here in the Great Hall."

The old man's eyes were twinkling. He seemed to be in jolly spirits. He sat down and raised his goblet to his lips.

The Slytherin table burst into applause, the first years especially. Professor Snape, sitting at the High Table, also clapped his hands, a faint smile on his face. The rest of the hall joined in the applause, some people with more enthusiasm than others.

The tables filled with pastry, and the students began to speculate on who would be directing the choir. The first year Slytherins smirked knowingly at each other. They all knew that the director would be someone the other students would never suspect. That part of the petition had been obscured by a Confundus Charm courtesy of Elan Malfoy.

That evening back in the common room, the first years were congratulating themselves on a job well done. Millie was the star of the hour, for it had been she who had started things off.

"Speech!" Tim called.

"Hear, hear, speech!" Jenna echoed.

Millie grinned and got to her feet. "My fellow Slytherins," she began, spreading her arms broadly, as if to hug the whole room. Everyone in the common room applauded. Millie's voice carried very well. Erika Chabré, a second year, let out a piercing whistle that bounced off the stone walls.

"I would like to thank you all for signing our petition," Millie continued. "It means so much to me, and to all of us, to know that our House fully supports us."

Cheers and catcalls rose up from her audience. The cheers were from those who had voluntarily signed the petition. The catcalls came from those who had been threatened by Elan Malfoy with a sound hexing.

"We hope that you will all follow through on your interest in a choir. We'll see you all at the first meeting." Millie bowed from the waist, with the applause of her House rising around her.

The show over, the students all settled back into their routine. Every so often the first years would hear someone speculating over the identity of the choir director, and they smirked at each other some more.

As the night wore on, the first years tried to get their homework finished and out of the way so they could enjoy the weekend worry-free. Tim finished his first and went to bed early, claiming a headache. Draco kept yawning every three seconds and finally closed his Astronomy book and headed for the dorm. Goyle made it to eleven o'clock before he gave up studying.

Harry was at the table until quite late, reading his Transfiguration text. He still struggled in that class and was determined to improve his grade. He didn't remember his other friends leaving the table, just as he didn't remember falling asleep. He only realized it when he was shaken awake by Jessica Conejo, sixth year prefect responsible for the first years.

"Harry?" she said softly. "Harry, wake up now. It's time to go to bed."

Harry mumbled something and came half-awake. He yawned, peering around in the shadowy darkness. The fire in the fireplace had near to burned out, and the lamps which normally gave off their warm green glow had been extinguished.

Jessica was waking Pansy and Jenna as well. There was no one else in the common room. Harry yawned again and rubbed his eyes. He'd been sleeping on his books and could feel the imprint on his face. He slowly picked them up and began thrusting them into his bag.

Pansy and Jenna waved goodnight and went down the corridor towards their room. Harry was still putting his things away, moving very slowly.

"Harry, are you alright?" Jessica asked him. He looked up into her dark eyes, her pretty face framed by her black ringlets of hair. She had cut it, he noticed absently. Now it bobbed around her shoulders.

"Just very sleepy," he mumbled. She must have understood him, because she picked up his bag for him. She took his hand and led him down the corridor to his dormitory. Goyle's snores could be heard even through the thick oak door.

"Here you are. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Harry," Jessica whispered, and she planted a kiss on his forehead.

He stumbled into the room and dropped his bag by his trunk. He didn't even get his glasses off before he pitched face down onto his bed and began sawing wood.

The weekend passed in a lazy manner. For some inexplicable reason they hardly had any homework, so the Slytherins were able to relax and enjoy each others' company.

Harry was getting rather good at quickly shuffling a pack of cards. He had also learned how to play Gobstones, a game played with coloured stones that spat foul-smelling liquid at you if you lost.

The first years went to bed late and got out of bed late all weekend. The slight break was very welcome, and they all took advantage of the chance to rest.

So, when Monday came around, they were all bright-eyed and perky in Herbology. Even those who didn't enjoy the class as much as the others were able to find interest in the lesson about the poinsettia, a seasonal plant that had been adopted into the Muggle world - as a Christmas 'flower', of all things.

"Aunt Petunia puts those things all over the house at Christmas time," he whispered to Draco as they scribbled down notes.

"Idiot Muggles," his friend said with a sneer. "The plant has loads of magical uses, and they use it as a bloody decoration."

After the Herbology lesson, they were off to naptime in History of Magic where Professor Binns droned on and on, as usual. Also as usual, the only person paying attention was Hermione Granger. Even though the Professor never asked questions, her hand would occasionally go into the air, and she would practically bounce on her seat, eager for attention.

Blaise amused herself by mocking the other girl constantly, whispering in Harry's ear. Harry, finding Granger's attitude to be entirely funny, was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud and shame the House. Draco and Tim were whispering to each other on Harry's other side.

After lecture, Granger stayed behind to ask Professor Binns a question. A couple of girls from Hufflepuff tried to catch her attention, but she waved them on, presumably to lunch. Tim and Draco took up positions outside the door to the classroom.

When Granger had finished her business, she shouldered her bag and left the classroom. Tim pointed his wand just as she was stepping through the door and cast a Tripping Jinx. Granger stumbled and fell to the floor.

Harry was a bit shocked. Making fun of someone was one thing, but attacking a fellow student was quite another.

"Ow, what's the big idea?" she demanded. She rolled off her stomach and sat up, staring up at the Slytherins with a mixture of anger and fear.

"Oops," Tim said, with vast insincerity. "I was just showing my mates here a new jinx I'd picked up. What are you doing getting in my way, Mudblood?"

Harry started to step forward to say something, but Draco silenced him with a warning look.

"Leave me alone!" she protested, getting to her feet.

"You think an awful lot of yourself, don't you, Granger?" Draco said in his drawling tone of voice. "You act awfully superior, for a _Mudblood_."

"I-I don't know what you mean," she said, biting her lower lip, showing her large front teeth. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I don't even know you."

"And we don't _want_ to know you," Pansy said scornfully. "So why not get out of here?"

Granger began backing away. "You all should just leave me alone," she said again. "I'm glad this is the only class I share with you, because I don't like any of you. Don't think I don't hear you whispering about me! I don't care about not being a pureblood, I'm happy in Hufflepuff!"

Before anyone could respond, she turned and ran away down the hall. Pansy laughed at her until she was out of sight.

"That was fun!" she declared. "I needed that. Prissy little snot with her hand in the air like some know-it-all teacher's pet."

"Probably the only reason she hasn't brought Binns an apple yet is because he couldn't eat it," Blaise said, curling her lip.

"Speaking of food, it's time for lunch," Crabbe interjected.

"Thinking about food _again_, fathead?" Draco jeered at him.

"My head's not fat!"

Harry was quiet on the way to lunch. The scene from after History class was rankling with him a bit. One the one hand, by her own admission, Granger was happy in Hufflepuff. On the other hand, she was being terrorized by Draco and the others. He wrestled with it awhile, but finally shrugged it off. Surely no lasting harm would come of it. After all, Dudley had bullied _him_ for ten years, and Harry was none the worse for wear. It had toughened him up.

Everything would work out, he assured himself as he bit into a sandwich. Things always do.

That evening, the proto-choir remained in the Great Hall after dinner. There were about seventy students present, a turnout considerably larger than they'd expected. All the first year Slytherins were very pleased with themselves.

Professor Dumbledore came in through a side door, the Sorting Hat and stool in his hands. There was a murmuring sound as everyone wondered what was going on.

"Greetings, fellow musicians," the Professor said warmly. "I'm delighted that so many of you decided to attend. I hope you all enjoy your practice." He set the stool down, placed the Sorting Hat on top of it, and left.

There was dead silence. No one knew what to make of this twist. Then the tear in the Hat opened, and it began to speak.

"Good evening to you all! Thank you so much for coming to our first organizational meeting. I doubt we have enough time to practice any traditional holiday songs, so we're going to move right on into springtime music. Now then, I'd like all the young ladies who sing soprano here to my left, and those who sing alto to stand next to them. Young men who sing bass, here to the right, and tenors next to them. Boys! Please stand with the girls. Until your voices change, you'll be singing those parts."

Stunned, nobody moved.

"Come on now, come on. Don't just stand there, get organized!"

"This is insane!" A short Hufflepuff boy stepped away from the others. "This is a farce! I signed up for a serious choir! I'm not going to embarrass myself like this!" He walked out of the Great Hall. Several other students followed him.

"Anyone else think that this is all complete lunacy?" the Hat asked snappily.

No one answered.

"Right then. Does anyone have any requests for songs they'd like to sing?"

"_Blow Away The Morning Dew_," Blaise spoke up immediately.

"An old favourite!" said the Hat. "Someone else?"

"_Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee_," Tim contributed.

"A beautiful tune!" the Hat declared.

"_England's Mountains Green_," Millie spoke up, rather loudly.

"Not the proper title, but still excellent!" the Hat exclaimed. "Right! We'll also be doing _This Is My Father's World_, because I happen to like that song. I'll have sheet music for you all next week. For tonight, we're going to work on pitch and scales. First, warm-ups!" The Hat hummed a middle C, then ran up four notes evenly and loudly, before running back down to middle C.

"Now with me. Sing the notes with an 'ah' sound." Obediently, they 'ah'd up and back.

"Very good, very good," the Hat told them. "You there, Goyle. Move over to the tenor section please. Crabbe, you go with him. Again, everyone. This time starting one note higher." The Hat hummed a D and ran up four notes before sliding back down.

They followed, again making the 'ah' sound. They moved up one starting note, then another, and another, and another. Some of the older boys were having trouble reaching that octave. Finally they were starting from treble C.

The Hat kept going. Now none of the older boys were singing; their voices just didn't reach that range. Most of the girls and younger boys were still hitting the notes.

The Hat kept rising higher and higher, looking for the upper limit to the girls' voices. The last three still singing; a fifth year Gryffindor named Tiffany Trotter, a fifth year Ravenclaw named Penelope Clearwater, and a sixth year Slytherin named Elizabeth Archer, were singing notes far above the soprano range.

"Ladies, that was excellent! You'll be my leading soloists. Fawcett! You're no soprano. Get with the altos." Lynn Fawcett, a fifth year Slytherin, moved into the alto grouping.

"That was very good! Now we go down," the Hat declared. They started on middle C again, sliding up then down the scale. They dropped a note to B and continued. The girls and younger boys began to fall silent; the octave was too low for them. Again and again they went through the exercise, dropping the starting note each time.

The Hat kept dropping lower and lower, trying to find the boys' limit. A number of boys were still singing, especially Peter von Erickson, who was the most audible with his powerful voice.

"Superb!" the Hat crowed. "I thought I was going to be weeks whipping you all into some sort of decent group, but most of you seem to know what part you sing already. Delightful!"

The Hat quivered in apparent glee. "I think we're all going to have a lot of fun for the rest of the year. I look forward to our next meeting. I'll see you all next week!"

The choir dispersed, but the first year Slytherins remained behind. The Hat remained animated.

"I must say, Bulstrode, this is an entirely decent amount of fun. When I first thought of the idea, I wasn't at all sure it would happen. Oh," it said dismissively, "I knew you would do your part; Slytherins always keep their word. What I didn't expect was the turnout we had tonight and the level of skill those students have. I had an inkling, from what I've seen in their heads, but even I was stunned."

"You're quite welcome. You did your part; we did ours. Our bargain is concluded," Millie said.

"Quite right. But I sense the Headmaster approaching, so I shall take my leave of you. You'd best get back to your dormitory. Good night!" And the Hat went still.

"Good evening!" Professor Dumbledore called out as he entered the Great Hall. His merry eyes were twinkling, and he was smiling. "Did you enjoy your choir meeting, children?"

"Yes, sir," they said more or less together.

"Good. I'm glad your petition was so successful. It's not often that we see such initiative amongst the students. I hope you'll all stick to it. Music is such a wonderful thing. I'm proud of you for organizing yourselves like this."

"Thank you, sir," Millie said, taking the credit that was her due, even if the Headmaster didn't know it.

"It's getting late," he noted. "It's nearly past my bedtime. I shall see you all at breakfast."

"Good night, sir," they chorused.

to be continued...


	12. Christmas Time

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Twelve - Christmas Time**

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, the young Slytherins made their way to the Astronomy Tower to find the battlements covered with several feet of snow that had fallen in the night. Goyle employed his fire spells to melt a clear path. The lake had frozen solid, and the snow-covered hill beckoned all the students, who were waiting for the weekend.

The roaring fires in both the Slytherin common room and their individual dormitories made the House a cozy haven of light and warmth. Elsewhere, only the Great Hall was remotely comfortable. In the rest of the drafty castle, the corridors were ice-cold, and the bitter wind constantly rattled the classroom windows. Though the dungeons were made of stone and held the winter chill, the walls were solid, and neither snow nor wind could penetrate.

In Professor Snape's classroom, the Slytherins watched with wide smirks as the shivering Gryffindors huddled close to their hot cauldrons. On the first day of December, he'd met them in the common room after dinner to teach them the Self-Warming Charm, something he said would be essential for them to know. He'd worked with them patiently, not leaving until even Pansy, the worst student at Charms, had mastered the spell: "_Concalesco Ipse_!"

No one could wait for the holidays to start. Harry was looking forward to taking a break from school. When Professor Snape had come around to inquire if any students would be staying at school over the holidays, Harry had been glad to explain that though he wasn't staying at school, he certainly wasn't going back to his awful Muggle relatives.

"Oh no, Mister Potter?" Snape asked curiously. "Where then, may I ask, do you plan to go?

"Draco's father has invited me to the Manor, sir," Harry said happily. Master Malfoy had sent a very polite invitation making it clear that he approved of the boys' friendship.

Professor Snape, though, frowned slightly. "I'm afraid it's not as simple as all that, Mister Potter," he said.

"What's the problem, sir?" Draco asked, as Harry's heart leapt into his throat. He desperately did not want to see his so-called family.

"To go anywhere other than home, the school must receive a notification of permission from a parent or guardian," Snape explained. "I advise you to write a letter home and ask for such permission, Mister Potter. Otherwise, the Headmaster will not allow it."

Harry's hopes fell. While the Dursleys would no doubt be glad to be rid of him for the holiday, there was no way they would give him leave to go home with another boy. They would not sign any such permission, just out of spite.

Draco must have seen Harry's disappointment on his face. "Chin up, Harry. We'll go write that letter and get it sent off."

"You don't understand," he despaired, and told Draco what he feared would happen.

Sure enough, Arlette brought back a letter from the Dursleys written in Uncle Vernon's own hand in blue ink on blue-lined white paper. It forbid him to associate with any of his fellow 'freaks' and explicitly instructed the Headmaster to not let Harry leave the school grounds. When Harry read the letter, he crumpled it into a ball and bounced it off the floor of the Hall. Scowling up his face, he felt like he wanted to cry.

He stomped out of the Hall and headed for class. He was furious at the Dursleys and wished he had taken the opportunity to hex them before the start of school. Those miserable Muggles weren't his parents; they weren't even wizards. They had no right to tell him who he could and couldn't be friends with, where he could and couldn't go. It just wasn't fair.

His friends walked along with him. Nobody said anything; they all knew it must have been bad news. None of them noticed that Harry's drama and subsequent furious exit had all been observed by a pair of cool blue eyes, which were glinting maliciously.

The owner of those eyes waited until the Slytherin table was empty and crouched down to retrieve the crumpled ball of paper that Potter had, in his anger, discarded to the floor. A pair of large hands carefully smoothed out the letter. A grin to match the glint in those cool blue eyes spread across his face. He tucked the letter away in a pocket. It would come in very handy, of that he had no doubts.

"I do feel so sorry," Weasley said loudly as he walked past the Slytherin table the next morning at breakfast, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts because they aren't wanted at home."

Harry felt like someone had stabbed him with a knife. Draco jumped to his feet and turned around to see Weasley standing there. "What did you say, Weasley?" Draco demanded in a low, dangerous voice, absent the drawl he used when addressing Gryffindors. His left hand drifted near his wand.

Weasley had been even more irritating since the Quidditch match. He'd been disgusted that Gryffindor had lost so spectacularly and had tried to make people laugh by saying that a large-mouthed bass would soon be replacing Harry as Seeker. This made no one laugh except himself, because everyone was impressed with the way that Harry had managed to stay on his out-of-control broomstick. Jealous and bitter, now Weasley had found something better to taunt Harry about.

"I think you heard me just fine," Weasley said, a nasty smile on his face. He turned and walked off, leaving a fuming Draco to comfort Harry, who was near tears.

"I'll get him for that," Draco spat, his usual calm demeanor long since fled. "He's one to talk, that bastard. He might have a proper family, but they're all crowded together in one room."

Harry didn't say anything. Weasley's words had cut too deep.

The girls arrived at that point, and Harry immediately became the center of attention. When Draco and Tim had filled them in, they too were thirsty for revenge. Blaise put her arm around Harry, letting him burrow his face into her shoulder.

"We don't let this go," she said in an iron voice. "And I want to hex him myself."

"We're all going to get a turn," Draco seethed. "And then he's lucky if I don't use my Potions knife to slit his throat. How dare he?"

"How did he find out?" Millie asked, looking fit to be tied. Her hands were shaking and clenched spasmodically. She looked like she wanted to hit someone.

"He must have found the letter," Tim said, cursing.

"Language!" Pansy reprimanded him.

"Go throw yourself off the battlements," he snarled back at her.

"I just want to go back to bed," Harry said, his voice muffled against Blaise's shoulder.

Jenna took his hand. "Harry, I know you don't want to face him right now, but you've got to go to Potions. Professor Snape won't let him get away with anything. I'll see if I can't say something to him before class."

Harry allowed himself to be led back down into the dungeons. He half-heartedly spoke the Self-Warming Charm with the others. He was numb, not feeling much of anything. He sat listlessly at his station with Blaise while Jenna and Draco knocked on Snape's office door and went inside.

The Gryffindors arrived, Professor Snape came out of his office, and the lesson began. They set to work on the Hair-Raising Potion. Harry didn't pay any attention to what he was doing. He did only what Blaise told him to do. Several times Professor Snape passed by their work station, and he appraised Harry with a long gaze, though he said nothing.

Longbottom and Weasley were at a work station together. The pair had worked in tandem ever since the other Gryffindors had realized that they were both hopelessly inept at Potions and that the rest of them stood a better chance of earning good marks by not being anywhere near either one of them. They lost Gryffindor many points, but that would have happened regardless.

Today, the pair managed to screw up even more than normal, and Weasley's cauldron began to lose its shape, melting and deforming. As the bubbling blue potion seeped out of the melting cauldron and down onto the floor, Snape finally snapped.

"Idiots!" he thundered at them. They were both trying to wipe hot potion off of themselves, and out of their hair, which was curling up into tight spirals like a poodle's.

"I have never in my entire career as a teacher seen a pair of students more incompetant than you two! Even your worthless, practical joker brothers, Weasley, have at least _some_ idea of how to properly brew a potion. I'm disgusted by the both of you! Twenty points from Gryffindor for _gross_ incompetence!"

"Sir-" Weasley began. Longbottom was cowering in fear.

"And detention!" Snape shouted him down. "You will remain after class and scour out every student's cauldron with a toothbrush! Be thankful it's not your own brush you'll be using."

Weasley was glaring daggers across the room at the Slytherins. He clearly suspected that they'd had something to do with this situation. Longbottom had melted plenty of cauldrons before; he himself had screwed up dozens of potions before, but neither of them had ever gotten detention for it. Weasley fumed, but that was all he could do; he had no proof.

Harry didn't go up to lunch with his friends; he crawled into bed and tried to forget about what a horrible day it had been. It was bad enough that the Muggles were interfering in his life, but now Weasley knew about his home life and would spread it all across the school. Why had he been so stupid as to leave the letter lying around? Why hadn't he torn it up or burned it or something?

His friends came back from lunch and attempted to jolly him into some semblence of good spirits, but they were unsuccessful. He would have been quite content to spend the weekend in bed as well, but Draco hauled him out of bed in the early evening.

"Professor Snape is in the common room," he told Harry. "He wants to know if you want to stay here at school over the holiday."

Harry nodded and tried to turn over and go back to sleep. "Harry, you've got to sign the list yourself. Snape said to bring you."

Grumbling, Harry got to his feet and pulled on his dressing gown. He followed Draco out to the common room where Professor Snape was seated in a chair by the fire.

"Sir," he said politely.

Snape appraised him with a cool eye. "You look horrible, Misterr Potter. Surely Weasley's words can't have upset you _that_ much."

"I'll be staying here at school, sir." Harry's voice was lifeless. He didn't want to talk about it.

Snape presented him with the list, and he scrawled his name on it with the quill that Draco handed to him. Then Draco took the list and penned his own name neatly below it.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Mister Malfoy?" he questioned.

"I'm not leaving him here by himself," Draco said firmly. "That just wouldn't be proper."

The parchment was rolled up and disappeared into Snape's sleeve. "As you wish, Mister Malfoy. Good evening to you all."

"Sir," they said in response.

"Draco, your father is going to have kittens when he finds out about this," Pansy warned him. She had been working on her Potions homework nearby.

"I don't care," Draco snapped. "Let him have a fit. I told Harry that he'd be spending Christmas with me, and I mean to keep my promise. If Father doesn't like that, he can sod off."

Draco's kind gesture sliced right through Harry's melancholy. Who cared what that gutter snipe Weasley thought? At least Harry had friends who cared enough to stick by him. Professor McGonagall had told them that while at Hogwarts, their House would be as their family. The hell with the Dursleys; Slytherin was all the family he needed.

"Bugger Weasley," he said. "And thank you, Draco." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed slightly. "You're a true friend."

Draco grinned at him. "You're not so bad yourself."

When they went up to dinner, the Great Hall looked fantastic. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and a full dozen Christmas trees stood around the room. Some of the trees sparkled with tiny icicles; others glittered with hundreds of candles. Another tree was decorated with thousands of golden bubbles.

"Wizards are a bit more creative at holiday decorations," Harry said as they sat down.

"What do Muggles decorate with?" Millie asked curiously. None of them except Harry knew the slightest thing about living like a Muggle.

"They've got all sorts of ugly plastic stuff," Harry told her. "Useless, gaudy, and tacky, every bit of it."

"Trumpery?" Blaise asked, for she knew many words.

"If you say so," Harry laughed.

"What's plastic?" Tim asked, confused.

Harry thought about it for a minute. "It's, er- it's," he couldn't find a good way to explain it. "It's a Muggle thing," he finally settled on. "Don't worry about it."

"A Muggle thing," Pansy sniffed. "That says quite enough."

"So are you looking forward to the holiday?" That was Abraham, and he sat down with them. They wouldn't be seeing him for several weeks, and Harry knew that he would miss the older boy who had guided them and looked out for them. He'd miss Jessica too, who always had a smile and a kind word for any of them.

Harry was indeed looking forward to the holiday. Though he had been denied his first choice of visiting Malfoy Manor by the Dursleys, at least he wouldn't be forced to see those horrible Muggles. The Christmas feast at Hogwarts was likely to be a thousand times better than anything he ate at Privet Drive.

With no classes or schoolwork to occupy him, Harry thought he might devote some time to trying to find out who Nicholas Flamel was. The library would be open during the break, so he could roam at will amongst the stacks. Maybe one of his friends would be able to find out from their parents. With nothing vital to do, the mystery was sure to grate on him.

Everyone left the next morning. The first years had a bit of an emotional parting. Every girl hugged both Harry and Draco, the only two who were remaining at the school. Millie had hesitated to hug, and Harry saw her start to offer her hand to shake, but she set her jaw and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing the breath out of him. Tim, Crabbe, and Goyle all shook hands, and Harry feared he might never write with a quill again, so strong were the bigger boys' grips. After breakfast, Harry and Draco were all alone in Slytherin House.

Draco's brother Elan had been flabbergasted when he'd been informed that Draco would not be going home to the Manor. They had a rousing row at breakfast, which was greatly entertaining to everyone else. Finally, sensing that Draco would not budge, Elan gave up and said that he'd not be defending Draco's actions to Father.

They sat by the fire talking long into the night, and when they rose, the sun was already well up in the sky. With nothing else to do, by day they searched the library for information on Nicholas Flamel. The library was as unyielding of information as Hagrid had been, but still they kept at it, browsing the stacks, leafing through any book that looked promising. By night, they shared stories and spent hours talking about nothing at all.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the feast the next day. He wasn't expecting a visit from St. Nicholas, nor did he expect any presents. He'd never gotten presents before, so when he woke in the morning to find a pile of brightly-wrapped packages at the foot of his bed, he was very shocked. Looking at the tags, he saw that they were from his friends and their parents. It brought a tear to his eye.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," mumbled Draco, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown. "You too, Happy Christmas. Great Scot, I've got presents!"

Draco was yawning. "Of course you got presents. Did you think we'd all forget about you?"

Harry felt his cheeks burning. "I've never gotten presents before," he said in a low voice.

"What?" Draco asked, still yawning. "What'd you say?"

"I said I've never gotten presents before," Harry spoke up, his cheeks still flushed.

Draco stared at him. "Those bastards!" he exclaimed, and Harry knew he meant the Dursleys. "Well bugger them, open your presents."

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was a decent sized box wrapped in shiny silver foil. The tag was from Jenna's parents. He tore it open to find several tins of polish and a polishing cloth. The note inside said, "For broom and wand." He smiled. A practical gift, but very suitable.

His next parcel was wrapped in shiny green foil, and it was from Tim's parents. Inside was a tooled leather wand sheath. The intricate designs ensnared the eyes. He put it with his robes immediately.

The next package was from Goyle's mum and dad and contained a fine set of Gobstones. That was excellent, now he wouldn't have to borrow a set if he wanted to play. Draco immediately challenged him to a game after breakfast.

Crabbe's parents had given him a pair of matched raven-feather quills and an inkwell filled with silver ink. He didn't know that he'd ever have cause to use the ink, but the quills were very nice.

Pansy and her parents had bought him a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_. He'd mentioned several times that he ought to get the paper, and now he was saved the trouble.

Crabbe and Goyle had jointly bought him a cardboard box and filled it with candy. There were Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizbees, and other things he'd never heard of before. Even the snack trolley on the Hogwarts Express didn't have most of this stuff. He nibbled on a sugar quill.

From the Zabinis and Bulstrodes, there were a dozen boxes of new clothes. Harry looked down at his tatty hand-me-downs and flushed red.

"They could have been a bit more subtle about that," Draco commented, looking up from his own presents.

"These rags," Harry said, absolutely disgusted with them. He immediately pulled them off and donned some of his new trousers.

"The green shirt with that," Draco said absently, lost in the design work of a polished, wooden wand case.

When Harry had dressed himself properly, he looked in the full-length mirror. "Very nice," it told him. "What a smart-dressed young man, you are. Now if only you could do something about that hair..."

"I can't believe this pile of clothes," Harry exclaimed. "This must have been all so expensive! It's too much!"

"Did you forget that Millie's mother is a fashion designer?" Draco asked, finally tearing himself away from the wand case. "It was probably nothing for her to get all that. She's good friends with Missus Zabini too." He held up one of the tags. "See? And I bet Blaise helped out with choosing most of this."

Harry picked up a letter, in a Muggle envelope. There was no parcel attatched to it. Inside the envelope was a note. He unfolded it and began to read.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon._ Taped to the note was a fifty-pence coin.

"That's friendly," Harry said as he showed the note to Draco.

"What's this?" Draco asked, peering at the coin.

"Muggle money," Harry told him. "And not all that much of it, either. You couldn't even buy two sweets with that."

"Stingy bastards, aren't they? Still, it's rather interesting to look at." Draco was a bit fascinated by the coin.

"Keep it then," Harry said, laughing. "Happy Christmas, Draco."

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

There was only one parcel left. Harry picked it up and noted that it felt very light. He tore the paper off. Something fluid and silvery grey went sliding to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Draco looked stunned.

"What is it?" Harry asked, picking it up. It felt strange to the touch, like water had been woven into the fabric.

"That's an invisibility cloak," Draco said in awe. "They're really valuable, take forever to make. They're expensive _and_ rare. What's the note say?"

"Note?" Sure enough, a note had come with the cloak and fallen to the floor. Harry seized it. It was written in a narrow, loopy script that he'd never seen before.

__

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It's time  
it was returned to you. Use it well.

A Very Happy Christmas to you.

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Draco had picked up the cloak and pulled it around his shoulders.

"Woo, I'm a floating head!" he said. True enough, it seemed as though his head was floating there in mid-air. The rest of his body was invisible. "Father's got one of these, but I've never even been allowed to touch it," Draco said wistfully. "You sure are lucky." He pulled the hood up over his head, and he vanished from sight completely.

Harry felt very strange as he stared at the note. "Harry, what's wrong?" Draco asked, pulling off the cloak.

"Nothing," he replied. Who had sent it? Had it really belonged to his father? What did the note mean? "C'mon, let's have a shower and get up to the feast."

Harry had never in his life seen such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roasted potatoes, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas; silver boats of thick, rich gravy; cranberry sauce - and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

The wizard crackers were fantastic party favours that were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones that Harry was used to. Draco invited him to pull the first with him, and it didn't just pop, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them in a cloud of blue smoke. Instead of cheap plastic toys and flimsy paper hats, inside was a pirate captain's hat.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. One of the Ravenclaw boys they were sitting with (if not for Harry and Draco, the Slytherin table would be empty) nearly swallowed a silver Sickle that was hiding in his slice. Harry watched disapprovingly as, up at the High Table, Hagrid got redder and redder in the face and kept calling for more wine. Then, to his amazement, he kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek, and she giggled and blushed like a young girl.

During pudding, a large eagle owl came swooping in and landed right on the table. It was not Arlette.

"There's no letter," Harry said, very confused.

Draco was grinning broadly. "That's my present. Well, me and my folks' anyway. You're always borrowing my owl, I figured you needed one of your own."

Harry was truly touched by this thoughtful gift. "Thank you, Draco. She's wonderful."

"He," Draco corrected. "He doesn't have a name; that's your job. Come up with something good, will you?"

Harry promised that he would do just that. When they finally left the table, he was laden down with his new owl and a stack of toys from the wizard crackers. He was now the proud owner of a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, and sixteen marble figures that Draco told him was a complete set of wizard chess pieces.

The Weasley clan had remained at school for the holiday. Neither Harry nor Draco had said anything about it, preferring to just avoid Weasley altogether, but now Harry tugged on Draco's sleeve as they left the Hall.

"Let's wait for him," he said. It was obvious who he meant. "I've got a couple of things I want to say to that prat." Harry was still angry over the way Weasley had taunted him about his parents' deaths.

"Hey, Weasel," Harry sneered as the red-headed boy headed for the stairs. Weasley stopped and turned around. He was alone.

"Well, looks like a couple of snakes are braving the sunlight," Weasley sneered back, just as obnoxiously. "Shouldn't you be underground eating live mice or something?"

"Shouldn't you be not here?" Draco asked in his drawl.

"Yes, what's the matter, Weasley? Got no proper family that wants you at home?" Harry threw Weasley's own words back in his face. "And what is that ridiculous thing you're wearing?"

Weasley was wearing a lumpy, hand-knitted maroon jumper. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Harry had ever seen, though he would have taken it over his old rags any day. Weasley flushed red.

"Shut up, Potter," was all he said, before turning away and heading up the marble stairs.

They went outside to go sledding, sliding down the hill onto the lake over and over, until their legs had turned to rubber, and their cheeks were rosy with the cold. Dinner was a casual affair of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake. Back in the common room, they sipped hot chocolate, and Draco began teaching Harry how to play wizard chess.

That night, after Draco had fallen asleep, Harry sat in bed, wide awake. He couldn't sleep. He still wondered who had sent him the invisibility cloak. He pulled it out and held onto it. It was smoother than silk, light as air. This had belonged to his father. Forget how rare they were, forget how costly; it had been his father's.

He had to try it out. Now. He slipped out of bed and pulled it around his shoulders. Where he should have seen his legs, he saw only moonlit shadows. It was a queer feeling.

The note had said, _Use it well_.

An invisibility cloak was used to become invisible. He started with realization. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak! Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in darkness and silence. He could go anywhere with this cloak, anywhere at all, and Filch would never know.

Draco mumbled something in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? No, he decided. Not the first time; not with this cloak that had belonged to his father. This time, the first time, he wanted to go alone.

He quietly left the room and walked down the corridor to the common room. He bolted across the room and out through the stone wall. Where should he go? He didn't know. He walked randomly, as silent as a ghost. He saw a few of the ghosts out and about, but he said nothing to them.

He was near the library now. It was pitch-black through the doors and very eerie. He looked in at the tall bookshelves that held so much knowledge but hadn't helped them discover the answers they needed. Flamel's name was nowhere to be found in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_; he was also missing from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_, and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. And those were only a few of the tomes the library held amongst the thousands and thousands of books.

Harry had been wondering for a time if they might ever find Flamel's name in the library. They dared not ask for help. In the library proper, it seemed a fruitless task. That last phrase jangled around in his head. _The library proper_...

Was it possible that information on Flamel was in the Restricted Section? He'd never looked there; you needed a specially signed note from a teacher to even look in any of the restricted books. He knew he'd never get one, because these were books that contained powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying Advanced Defence.

As soon as the idea occurred to him, he knew it must be correct. In his mind, he could picture the velvet rope that warded off the forbidden books at the back of the library. Did he dare? He was invisible. He grabbed for a lantern and lit the wick with a quick charm.

"Who's there?" came a voice. Filch! He'd seen the light! Harry dropped the lantern and ran. He might be invisible, but a floating lantern was enough to make even Filch suspicious, and he'd probably wake the Headmaster.

Filch's footsteps drew near, and Harry almost ran into him. He could see the caretaker's pale, wild eyes searching in the darkness, but they glided right over Harry. He ran, as silently as he could manage.

He came to a sudden halt near a tall suit of armour. He had been so busy getting away from Filch, that he hadn't paid any attention to where he was going. It was like the night of the duel all over again. The darkness made it impossible for him to tell where he was. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he was at least five floors above there.

"Glad I found you, Professor. Professor Snape asked me to let him know if anyone was wandering around at night, but you'll do just as well. It seems someone's out of bed and tried to get into the library. I found this lantern dropped on the floor, and the wick was still burning. I've no doubt he ran for fear of his life."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer. To his complete shock, it was Professor Quirrell's stuttering voice that answered, "L-lantern? L-library? P-p-probably an older s-student t-t-trying to raid the-the-the Restricted S-s-section. I t-tell them they're n-n-not ready, but t-t-they are y-young and think they are im-im-im-immortal."

_Quirrell_? Sure enough, the Professor and Filch came around the corner, as Harry stood rooted to his spot. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor, and if they came much closer to him, they'd crash into him for sure. He wasn't immaterial, after all.

"We'll catch 'em, oh yes, we'll catch 'em. Hang 'em up in the dungeons and let 'em have a good screamin' we will, oh yes."

He backed away as quickly and quietly as he could. He could see a door ajar to his left. It would have to do. He squeezed through it, thankful for being skinny, and eased the door shut behind him after they'd walked by. He listened to their footsteps fade away. That had been too close for comfort.

The room looked like an unused classroom, of which there were dozens around the school. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket. None of that mattered when he saw the highly unusual object in the room. It looked out of place, as though it were just here because there was nowhere else to put it.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Now that Filch and Quirrell had walked away, his panic was fading, and his natural curiosity was growing. What was this mirror? Why was it here? He stepped closer, wanting to look at himself from under the cloak. He stood in front of it and gasped.

He saw...

to be continued...


	13. The Mirror

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Thirteen - The Mirror**

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

What was this mirror? Why was it here? Harry stepped closer, wanting to look at himself from under the cloak. He stood in front of it and gasped.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to keep from screaming. He spun around, staring wildly into the shadows. His heart was in his throat, for in the mirror, he was not alone.

He saw no one. The room was empty. He took a deep, slow breath, trying not to hyperventilate. He turned back to the mirror.

There he was, looking pale and frightened. Also there, reflected in the space behind him, were at least ten other people. Harry looked over his shoulder, but he was still alone. Were they all invisible too? Was he going mad? What trick was this?

He looked back at the mirror. A woman was standing right behind his reflection; she smiled and waved at him. He reached out his hand and felt only the empty air. If she was truly there, then he should have felt her, so close were they standing in the mirror. He felt nothing. She and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair, and her eyes were just like his. He leaned in closer to the mirror. Their eyes were bright green, identical in shape, but she was crying. She smiled at him, but she cried nonetheless.

The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. The man wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did. The jawline, the cheekbones, all identical.

"Mum," he whispered, not daring to believe it. "Dad?"

They did not answer. They only watched him, smiling. Harry saw pride on both their faces. He felt weak all of a sudden, and he looked at the other faces in the mirror. Here he saw a pair of green eyes; there he saw a nose like his own; a little old man at the back even had Harry's knobby knees. He could have wept; he was looking at his family for the first time in his life.

The Potter family smiled and waved at him, and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass. Would that he could pass through and reach them. He felt a terrible ache inside him; half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stayed there he could not have said. The reflections did not fade and kept him company until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here; he had to get back to the dungeons. He tore his eyes from his mother's wistful face with a sort of wrenching agony. He pulled the cloak about his shoulders, and saw his father wink at him. A tear rolled down Harry's cheek.

"I'll come back," he promised, and he fled before he lost his strength. He ran as quickly and silently as he could. It took him several minutes to even figure out where he was. He took the quickest way back to the dorm he could find, praying he wouldn't run into Filch or Quirrell again.

When he was back in the dungeons, Professor Snape's domain, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe. He slid back the blank stone wall and stumbled inside, falling back against the wall as it closed behind him. He was home free.

Physically worn-out, emotionally drained, and absolutely exhausted, Harry collapsed onto his bed. He wanted to wake Draco and tell him all about the mirror. _Just gotta catch my breath first_.

When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining brightly through the picture window. He had neglected to close his curtains last night; how careless. He glanced over to see that Draco's bed was empty. Harry sat up. He had to find Draco, had to tell him about the mirror. His parents!

The door to the dorm opened and Draco sauntered in. "Good morning," he said casually. "You might be able to make breakfast if you run."

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed.

His friend frowned at him slightly. "Yes, for these past eleven years, six months, and nineteen days."

Harry jumped up from bed and grabbed Draco in a hug. Draco sputtered and stepped back. "Geroff! Harry, what's gotten into you?"

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed again. "I made the most incredible discovery last night!"

"Did you go for a walk in the new cloak of yours?" Draco demanded, quickly putting two and two together.

Harry nodded rapidly. "I wound up by the library where I was about to go looking through the Restricted Section for Nicholas Flamel but Filch came by before I could look and I ran away but he took some shortcut because he'd found Professor Quirrell and they were searching for me so I ran and wound up in this room and there's this mirror and," he took a deep breath, "I saw my parents!"

Draco's jaw dropped. "You saw your _parents_?" he said, completely stunned. "Were they - _alive_?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, I could only see them in the mirror. I could see myself, but they were standing right behind me. I saw other people too, and I think they were the rest of my family, because I saw people with my eyes, my nose, my face. I have a _family_, Draco!" His hands were shaking.

Draco clasped his shoulders. "Harry, that's wonderful. I'm happy for you, mate."

"They looked so proud of me," he said wistfully, picturing his mother's happy tears and the unmistakable look on his father's face. "I'm not alone anymore. Oh, they're not here, but I _feel_ them now. I feel like I know them."

Draco squeezed Harry's shoulders tightly. He didn't say anything else. The blissful look on Harry's face said it all. "I'm going back tonight," he said, his mind made up. "You can come along if you'd like."

Draco shook his head. "Oh no, no more adventures. I already told you that."

"Suit yourself." Harry wasn't the least bit bothered. All he could think about was the coming night and the mirror that showed him his family. He didn't go up to try to catch breakfast. Though he went up to lunch, he didn't eat anything. When Draco suggested going to the library and continuing the search for Flamel, Harry thought it a waste of time. To ideas of playing chess, playing gobstones, or going sledding, he took no interest. He was going back to the mirror tonight; that was the important thing.

When the bell tolled midnight, he pulled the invisibility cloak out from under his bed and wrapped it around his thin shoulders.

"So you're going," Draco said flatly. He hadn't said anything against Harry's plan all day. Now he seemed to have found his tongue.

"You can't stop me, Draco," Harry said emotionlessly.

"I don't want to stop you," Draco told him. "This is your parents we're talking about, I have no illusions about persuading you not to go. But someone's got to look out for you, and that someone is me."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Draco. I knew I could count on you."

"Aww heck," Draco drawled, "you're gonna make me blush."

So they walked off, both of them under the invisibility cloak. It was slower going, since they had to walk in step. It took a bit, but they eventually were able to synchronize. It helped that Draco could hum very softly, and the melody kept them in time.

Harry tried to retrace his route from the library, but he must've forgotten a turn somewhere, because they wandered around for nearly an hour.

"This is getting us nowhere," Draco declared quietly. "You've obviously missed a turn somewhere, and we've been walking forever. We'll try again tomorrow."

"_No!_" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

They saw the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw nothing else. Just as Draco was mentioning that his feet were developing blisters, Harry spotted the suit of armour.

"It's here! Right over here! There's the door!" They pushed the door open, ducked inside, and shoved it closed. Harry flung off the cloak and ran to the mirror. His mother and father were there, and they beamed at the sight of him.

"There they are," he said softly. "See?"

"I can't see anything," Draco told him.

"Look! Right there! There's so many of them!"

"I can only see you," Draco said.

"Look in in properly," Harry said, dragging Draco to the place where he was standing. His family vanished and all he could see reflected in the glass was Draco in his dressing gown. Draco's eyes widened.

"You see them!" Harry cheered.

Draco stared wide-eyed into the mirror. "Look at me," he whispered.

"What do you see?" Harry asked him. "Do you see your family?"

"It's me," Draco breathed. "I'm older though. I look like Elan. But I'm not a prefect like him, I'm Quidditch Captain! You're there too, Slytherin's star Seeker. There's Millie and Tim, and we're all Chasers. We've stomped Gryffindor into the ground and taken the Quidditch Cup! Weasley's lying on the pitch bawling his eyes out!"

Harry didn't know what this meant. It had shown him his family, but had shown Draco a vision of the future. It made no sense. "Move over," he said. "I want to look again."

"You had it all last night," Draco said, not budging.

"You're just holding the Quidditch Cup," Harry argued. "What's so interesting about that?"

"I'm watching Weasley bleed his life out onto the grass." Draco was staring deep into the mirror.

"I want to see my parents." Harry stepped closer, ready to shove his friend out of the way. The ache in his chest was back.

"Don't shove me -"

A sudden noise in the corridor put an end to their discussion. Scarcely daring to breathe, Harry realized they'd been talking very loudly.

"Under the cloak!" Draco snapped, grabbing for it. They were just in time, as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Harry cursed to himself; why had they left the door open? Draco and Harry stood quite still, trying desperately to not make a sound. Did the invisibility cloak work on cats? She stared into the darkness for what seemed like ages. Then, without so much as a sound, she turned and left.

"She went for Filch," Draco said at once. "We're not safe here. Back to the dorm at once." He grabbed hold of Harry's sleeve and tugged his friend from the room.

The snow was still falling the next morning. Harry hadn't slept well. All he could think about was the mirror. Draco watched his friend throughout the day, noting that Harry was reticent.

"Harry, do you want to play chess? You were doing very well the other day." He hadn't been, but Draco figured his little white lie was well-served.

"No thanks." Harry's voice was listless.

"Gobstones?"

"No."

"You're thinking about that mirror, aren't you?" Draco accused him. "You're going back there tonight!"

"Maybe."

Draco sat down on Harry's bed. "I think that's a mistake," he said, looking directly at Harry. "Filch is out there. Mrs. Norris too. You said that Quirrell was wandering around. You heard Filch say that Professor Snape has an interest in knowing who's out of bed. Harry, trust me. Going out of the dorm again tonight is a bad idea. Stay here."

Harry shook his head. Draco had parents; he couldn't possibly know what it meant to Harry to see his family. He was going back to the mirror tonight.

Draco kept a close watch on him all day. When the bell finally tolled curfew, Harry reached under his bed and pulled out his cloak. He was about to pull it over his head when Draco clamped a hand on his forearm.

"This is a bad idea," Draco said. "You're risking detention, losing points, and shaming the House. You're not thinking. Remember what Snape said about having good reasons for the things we do?"

Harry shook his friend's hand off. "I'm going," was all he said before he pulled the cloak on and vanished.

"Harry! Damn it, Harry!" Draco groped in the air, trying to catch ahold of the cloak. Harry ignored him and slipped out to the common room and into the corridor.

He found his way more quickly than the night before. He was walking rapidly and making noise, but he didn't meet anyone. So long as he could stop silent whenever he encountered someone, they'd probably think it was a ghost or Peeves or something else.

His mother and father were smiling at him again when he stepped up to the mirror. One of his grandfathers waved at him, and Harry sank down to sit on the floor. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. He could be blissful now.

"So, back again, Harry?"

The voice startled him, and he felt his insides turn to ice. He turned to look behind him and saw Professor Dumbledore sitting on one of the desks by the wall. Harry must have walked right past the man without noticing, so desperate had he been to get to the mirror.

"Good- good evening, sir. I didn't see you there."

"Strange, isn't it, how being invisible can make you nearsighted," the headmaster said, and Harry was relieved to see that the old man was smiling. He got up from the desk and sank down to sit next to Harry on the floor. "I see that you, like so many hundreds before you, have discovered the wonders of the Mirror of Erised."

"Is that what the script on top says, sir?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Very observant, Harry. I trust by now you've figured out what this mirror does?"

"It shows me my family, sir."

"Ah yes, and your friend Draco, what did he see?"

"He saw himself as Quidditch Captain. We'd won the Quidditch Cup, and the House Cup too." Harry didn't understand where the old man was going with this.

"Now then, can you think of what it is that the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Dumbledore's face was very serious.

Harry had no idea. He shook his head.

"Let me explain, then. The happiest man in the world would look into this mirror and see only himself exactly as he is. For him, the mirror would be perfectly ordinary. Does that help?"

Harry thought. His forehead wrinkled in concentration. "It shows us what we want? Whatever we want?"

"Almost," Dumbledore said gently. "This mirror shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire in our hearts. Draco Malfoy sees himself succeeding in a way that his older brother has not, at Quidditch. He sees the sport as a way to distinguish himself. You, Harry, have never known your family, so you see them standing all around you, proud of you."

Harry's eyes filled with tears. What a cruel mirror. It wasn't real, any of it. He wanted to cry, but Dumbledore was still talking.

"This mirror gives neither wisdom, nor truth, Harry. Men have wasted away, staring into this mirror. They become entranced by what they see. Others have been driven mad, not knowing if what they see is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new location tomorrow, Harry, and I must ask that you not go looking for it again. If you ever encounter it again, you will be prepared for its mystique, but it does not do to dwell on dreams. You must never forget to live." Dumbledore got to his feet, and Harry did the same. "And one must not forget to sleep. Why not put that admirable cloak on and head back downstairs?"

Harry nodded and turned to go. "Professor?" he asked. "None of what I saw was real? Their love, their pride, none of it?"

Dumbledore's face was unreadable. "Your parents loved you, Harry. Never doubt that. If they were still alive today, I know they would be proud of you. I don't believe any of those feelings you saw were imagined."

That made him feel slightly better. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Harry." Harry could feel the old man's blue eyes watching him as he left the room.

Harry walked back to the dorm slowly. He knew that once he lay down to sleep, he would have to put the mirror out of his thoughts. So he walked slowly, trying to store up the images of his mother and father, holding them in his heart. He tried not to sniffle. Sniffling wasn't dignified.

Draco was sitting in a chair by the fire when Harry slid back the wall. He turned his head and peered over, trying to find his friend. Harry pulled the cloak off and sat down in the empty chair.

"You're back early," Draco said in a neutral tone.

"Dumbledore was waiting for me," Harry told him.

Draco's eyes grew wide. "Are you in trouble?"

Harry shook his head. "No, we had a talk. That is, he talked and I listened. He told me what the mirror is and what it does." He fell silent, his thoughts slipping back to his parents.

"Well?" Draco asked after Harry didn't elaborate.

He shook himself slightly. "It's called the Mirror of Erised. It shows you the thing you want more than anything else. Dumbledore said that you want to succeed in ways that Elan hasn't, so that's why you're Quidditch Captain holding the Cup."

"And what you want more than anything is your family," Draco said, understanding.

Harry nodded, his thoughts drifting again. "He said it gives us neither wisdom nor truth. People have died because they sat in front of it for days and weeks and just let themselves go. Other people have gone mad."

"Wow," Draco breathed. "Are you going to go mad too?"

"I hope not," Harry said. "Dumbledore told me that the mirror is being moved, and he told me not to go looking for it again. He said it wasn't good to get lost in dreams."

"Certainly not," Draco agreed.

Harry got to his feet. "I think I'm going to bed," he said.

Draco stood as well. "I'm going to sleep late come morning," he announced. "I've been waiting up all night for someone." He poked Harry on the shoulder.

Harry got into his pajamas and lay down in bed. He could still see his parents; the tears on his mother's cheeks, the pride in his father's eyes. The images in the mirror had filled him with such longing, which was made all the worse for knowing that it could never be.

He lay awake for a long time, listening to the soft sounds of Draco's breathing, the only sound in the dorm. He stared up at his canopy, wishing desperately for sleep to come and banish the images. Finally, when he had all but given up hope, he closed his eyes and slept.

His dreams were terrible.

He had never dreamt of his parents before, for he did not remember them. Now he knew their faces, and those faces haunted his slumber. He dreamt of a house, a cozy home, filled with love and light. Then a storm would come, darkness would fall, and the door would burst open to admit a tall, cloaked figure. There would be a flash of green light, and his parents would vanish while a high-pitched, insane laugh echoed all around.

He came half-awake, shuddered, and sank back down into darkness. His dreams did not change, only repeated. Harry screamed in his head, and came awake to find that he was still screaming. Draco was sitting on his bed, shaking him. Harry closed his mouth and hugged his knees into his chest.

"Bad dream?" Draco asked him. Concern was etched on his face. Harry nodded, and Draco put an arm around his friend. He didn't say anything else. They sat together until the sun rose, and Harry squeezed his friend's arm before he got up to go shower.

He was a bit more animated that day. He continued learning the basics of chess from Draco, who told him that Tim could teach him more, but if he wanted to excel, he should ask Elan for instruction. The pair played assorted card games to pass the time.

His nightmares returned that night. Everything was the same, including being shaken awake by Draco a few hours before dawn. When Harry told him about the dreams, all Draco had to say was, "Maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe that mirror _can_ drive you mad."

With a week left before term started, the Slytherin dorms suddenly came back to life as some of the first year students returned to school. Blaise was pleased to see that Harry wasn't dressed like a slob anymore. Millie started a snowball fight with him and Draco that turned into a wrestling match, which Harry lost. Tim returned, intrigued about the mirror when he was told, and he reported no success in determining Flamel's identity.

Elan brought back a message from Mr. Malfoy that while he was very angry that Draco had skipped out on the holiday, especially without discussing his plans beforehand, he understood and respected Draco's decision to stay at school. In a somewhat dry manner, he inquired if Draco would be staying at school over Easter holiday as well.

When they first heard his nocturnal screams that night, his friends had varied reactions. Crabbe dove under his bed, convinced that the world was ending. Goyle grabbed his wand and jinxed everything that cast a shadow in the moonlight. Tim had to practically be pried off the ceiling of their room. Elan, Abraham, _and_ Peter all came running with their wands in hand, ready to combat whatever foul beast they were certain was murdering the first years in their beds. Draco explained everything to them, and a Silencing Charm was placed on the room. It had been deemed essential to peace and order in the House, especially for the frightened second years the next room over.

When classes started again, it was a relief for Harry to be back into his routine. When he studied long into the night, he didn't dream, and he didn't wake screaming. That was a relief both for him and his roommates.

The month of January passed with little note, until one Friday evening when the first years were lounging in the common room. Nobody wanted to study, because there was too much excitement about tomorrow's Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Harry didn't care who won the game, but he planned to attend anyway. He wanted to go mostly because it was Quidditch, and partially because it would be good for him to study both teams and their Seekers.

The usual debate was going hot and heavy when Harry opened up a Chocolate Frog, one of the many he'd received from Crabbe and Goyle for Christmas. He snatched the frog out of mid-air as it tried to jump away and bit off one of the legs. He swallowed it, still squirming, and giggled as it tickled his insides. He looked at the card to see Dumbledore again. He sighed, for he already had the old wizard's card, and had been hoping for Ptolemy. He flipped over the card to read the back and froze. He read it again, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. No, it was correct.

"Draco!" he hissed. "Look!" Harry shoved the card in front of his friend's nose.

"What do I care about Dumbledore the Muggle..." Draco trailed off as he read the card. "Blow me."

"What is it?" Tim asked curiously.

"'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, _Nicholas Flamel_'," Draco said with awe in his voice. "Cor blimey, Harry, you've done it!"

"Let me see!" Tim demanded, reaching for the card. "Damn, I _knew_ I knew that name. And I knew he was on a card, too."

"Shut your cakehole," Pansy sneered at him. "You didn't know any such thing, or we'd have had the puzzle solved by now."

"Our major problem in all this has been going about it arse about face," Millie said. "Finding just a name is impossible, as we've found out. With a little more information, we should have no troubles."

Tim glowered at Pansy. "It's too late to go to the library now," he said, "but first thing tomorrow I'll check."

"We've checked in the library a thousand times," she said, still sounding very obnoxious.

"Yes, but now we know what area of magic to look through," he replied. "There's a whole section in the library devoted to alchemy, which you'd know if you ever spent any time actually _studying_ when you go there."

Pansy began to turn red. "Belt up, you tosser."

"Look, just because _you've_ got nothing to say-"

"You waffle so much, no one gets a word in edgewise!"

"Why not throw a wobbly if you're going to cry about it?" Tim suggested. "I'm sure that would _really_ impress our Housemates."

"We shouldn't have any trouble," Blaise chimed in, ignoring the pair trading insults. "Good thing for us Tim is _tres au fait_ with the library."

Draco blinked owlishly. "What?"

"Never you mind," she pouted, her lower lip sticking out.

"The search could take awhile," Millie pointed out. "We should all go, and after the Quidditch match."

"Yes, quite," Harry agreed. "You might want to just watch the match, but I've got to study it. Our match against Ravenclaw isn't all _that_ far off."

"After lunch then," Draco decided. "We'll know what Flamel is all about by dinner."

Their plan made, the conversation drifted onto other topics. Everyone watched as Tim and Pansy traded barbs and jibes for about fifteen minutes without once repeating themselves or each other. While it _was_ educational, Harry soon grew tired of their squabbling and went to take a shower before bedtime.

Later on when he was lying in bed, he thought he'd never get to sleep. The answer was close, he could feel it. Maybe once he knew why Flamel was so important, they'd know what was hidden in the school. Once they knew that, maybe he'd know why someone had tried to kill him. He was anxious, but he slept, and he didn't dream.

to be continued...


	14. No Need To Get Dramatic

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Fourteen - No Need To Get Dramatic**

The Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw was decidedly less interesting than Harry's own match against Gryffindor. He dutifully studied what the Ravenclaw Seeker did, but even he, with his minimal knowledge of Seeker tactics, was unimpressed.

Marcus Flint, Captain of the House team, had joined the first years to give running commentary on Andrew Calcari's rather lackluster performance for Ravenclaw. Harry, Flint assured him, was a better Seeker than Calcari with one hand tied behind his back. That gave Harry high hopes for their own match against Ravenclaw next month.

Flint's presence also had the added advantage of keeping Weasley from bothering them. The sixth year boy was very imposing when he wanted to be, and Harry thought that one scowl would be enough to send any small Gryffindors running for cover. While Harry knew that he and his friends could handle anything that Weasley chose to say or do, it was easier to not have to deal with him at all.

Ravenclaw won the match, which dragged long into the day, 220-100. Though the Seekers were competent, if uninspired, the Chasers and Keepers made the game exciting. There were dozens of brilliant plays on both sides, and that kept the score neck and neck for hours.

When the match finally finished, almost more by accident than deliberate effort by Calcari, the young Slytherins were diverted from going to the library by the necessity of having lunch. They ate as fast as polite manners would allow, even Crabbe, who normally liked to linger over his cup of milk. Then they all made a beeline for the alchemy section of the library.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that there was only the one bookcase. Tim quickly set them each to looking through a single shelf. With everyone looking, surely they would have some answers by tonight.

It was Jenna who called to the others in an excited voice, and they all gathered around a table in the back, eager to see what she'd found. Jenna dropped a thick, old book onto the table with a thud. Harry stared at it in amazement. The book was enormous, and it smelled kind of musty. At least it didn't kick up a cloud of dust. Someone must have taken it out recently.

Jenna flipped it open and turned to a page towards the center. "Here it is!" she whispered excitedly.

__

"'One obscure branch of the ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of Philosopher's Stones over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mister Nicholas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mister Flamel, who recently celebrated his six hundred sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred fifty-eight)."

When Jenna had finished reading, everyone was quiet. Tim's eyes flashed in triumph. "Well, there's our answer," he crowed. "Fluffy is guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone. He must have found out that someone was after it, so he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him."

"And no surprise why someone wants to steal it," Draco observed. "Immortality and unlimited wealth? I wouldn't mind that at all."

"Neither would a lot of people," Tim said. "No wonder Professor Snape is after it."

"You don't know it's Snape, you moron," Pansy lashed out at him. "I saw Quirrell casting, and he wasn't blinking."

"But why would Quirrell try to kill Harry?" Blaise asked. "That would be inconceivable."

"Why would _Snape_ try to kill Harry?" Millie demanded. "It makes no sense at all."

"Yeah," agreed Draco. "I just can't believe that Professor Snape, the Head of our House, would be trying to kill one of the students placed under his protection. Besides, consider this: Quirrell was wandering around the corridors the night Harry found that Mirror. I bet he was looking for the Stone."

"Quirrell teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts," Tim said. "He has every reason to patrol the corridors. And didn't Harry overhear Filch saying that Snape had asked him to let him know if anyone was roaming the halls at night? What business is it of Snape's?"

That made the faction which condemned Quirrell quiet down. Jenna cleared her throat. "There's valid arguments on both sides," she said. "And my considered opinion is that we just don't know for sure."

"It might not matter," Harry said softly, "but I felt like Snape hated me when he first saw me."

Everyone drew in close around him. "At the Feast, he looked right at me, and I got this hot pain in my scar. I don't know why it would have done that. It's never hurt me before then."

Those who suspected Quirrell looked at each other doubtfully. "Jenna's right," Tim said. "There are good points both for and against. The only thing we can do right now is watch them both very carefully to see if we can find more clues."

"Maybe we should try to find out some more about them both," Blaise mused, biting her lower lip. "That might help us figure it all out."

"Maybe," said Draco, "but I tell you right now, it's not going to be Professor Snape."

They put the book back on the shelf and left the library to return to their common room. Right outside the library they met Longbottom, who stumbled in nervousness or fear when he saw the Slytherins.

"Well, well, well," said Draco, letting his voice fall into his bored drawl. "Longbottom, how perfectly dreadful to see you."

"M-M-Malfoy," Longbottom stuttered.

"Listen to you, you sound like Professor Quirrell," Tim said, laughing.

"I'd l-like to get by," Longbottom said quietly, staring wistfully into the safety zone of the library.

"And I'd like to be on the Quidditch team in my first year," Millie snarled. "We don't always get what we want, now, do we?"

"P-Please let me by," Longbottom said. Harry could see his knees quivering.

Draco drew his wand. "_Locomotor Mortis_!" he cast, pointing his wand at the chubby boy.

Longbottom's legs snapped together. His arms waving wildly, his bag fell to the floor, and he crashed down on top of his books with a surprised cry. The Slytherins all laughed.

"Thanks, Longbottom. I've been looking for someone to try that out on. You can go study now. Why not look up the counter-jinx?" Draco laughed again, and sauntered off down the corridor. The others followed.

Harry hung back as his friends walked away. What Draco had done wasn't right. Longbottom wasn't a Muggleborn, and nothing in the Slytherin Rules said that it was okay to randomly assault fellow students. He drew his own wand and pointed it; the Gryffindor cringed away, looking like he was about to cry. Harry quickly spoke the counter-jinx and ran, missing the astounded expression on the other boy's face.

Back in the common room, Harry grabbed ahold of Draco's robes before the blond boy could sit and pulled his friend towards their dorm room. When Draco opened his mouth to protest the rough treatment, Harry slapped his hand over it, forestalling the words. People took one look at Harry's furious face and backed away.

Harry yanked the door to their room open and shoved Draco through. He stalked in after his friend, slamming the door. "What the hell's _your_ bloody problem?" Draco demanded angrily.

"Why did you hex Longbottom?" Harry asked in an outraged tone of voice. He folded his arms across his chest. "He's not got anything to do with Muggles."

"You can't be serious," Draco scoffed. "Longbottom? You're sticking up for _Longbottom?_"

"He's never said so much as a word to you since the train," Harry said, feeling his face start to heat up.

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's clumsy enough with magic that he might as _well_ be from a Muggle family. The great lump is practically a Squib."

"What's a Squib?" Harry asked, his curiosity distracting him from pressing his point.

"A Squib is like a Muggleborn, except much worse. They're children born to wizard parents, but they have no magic in them at all. It's a horrible deformity. They usually do menial work for wizards. Sometimes they go out into the Muggle world, but we try to discourage that because they could possibly reveal our world to the Muggles. Those who do leave are forever cut off."

"Longbottom isn't a Squib," Harry said disgustedly. "How could a Squib get an invitation to this school?"

"Longbottom is a complete dunderhead," Draco said, waving his hand as if the question didn't concern him. "You know that. He needs some encouragement if he's ever going to get better."

"Who appointed you? Headmaster Dumbledore?" Harry demanded. "Neville's just a regular chap trying to get by. If he wants to leave us alone, I think we should leave him alone as well."

"Who?"

"Longbottom!"

"Oh." Draco sat down on his bed and looked up at Harry. "You're being a real drag about this. Come on, then."

"Why are you so ready to just lay into him? He's never tried to cause a problem with us. You can hex Weasley all you like. That's fine, I'll gladly help. But there's a difference between hexing someone for payback and hexing someone out of a cruel sense of fun. Longbottom doesn't deserve this; he's done nothing to us."

"He's a bloody Gryffindor," Draco said flatly. "That should be all the reason I need."

"Just him being a Gryffindor is enough for you to hate him?" Harry speculated incredulously. "That's ignorant. That's acting just like Weasley, saying that because of their House, they're worthy of our contempt."

"Don't say I'm like Weasley," Draco said angrily. "That's more insulting than you can know."

"Well stop acting like him then," Harry shouted back. "God, it's bad enough having a prejudiced prat like him as my enemy, do I have to have one as my best friend, too?"

Draco cast a hurt glare towards Harry. "I'm not a prat," he said defensively.

Harry ignored Draco's protestation; he was in a frenzy. "What if I'd been sorted to a different House? Would you have treated _me_ just like you're treating Longbottom? You know my blood is pure, but would that matter if I were in Gryffindor?"

"Harry, don't be absurd-" he started to say.

"Remember House Rule Five: 'Blood does matter'," Harry said, poking a finger into Draco's chest. "I think that means that until Longbottom crosses us, he should get the same respect we give to Terry Boot."

Draco frowned. "We grew up with Terry; we know his worth. But, fine, if it'll make you happy, I'll leave the chubby wanker alone. He isn't worth my time anyway. But don't think for a moment you're going to stop me from hexing Granger."

"Why not?" Harry continued, not letting up for a second. "We got our revenge! She's in Hufflepuff with the rest of the duffers, right?"

"Harry, why are you being like this?" Draco sounded puzzled. "Back during our first Flying lesson you were all about playing around with Longbottom's stupid glass ball."

"That was different," Harry snapped. "That wasn't to antagonize Longbottom; he wasn't even there. I was doing it to irritate Weasley. If Longbottom's Rememberall had gotten broken, I would have bought him another. I've got no problem with him, and there's no sense in going out of our way to get people hacked off at us," Harry continued in a more reasoned tone. "If people try to cause problems with us, then we should deal with those problems with our best spells, but why go looking for trouble?"

Any answer Draco might have given was cut off as Tim knocked on the door and opened it immediately. "What in Merlin's name is going on?" he asked. "Harry, why'd you drag Draco off like that? Don't you know he hates to have his clothes mussed?"

That made Harry crack a smile, even in his foul mood. "We had something to discuss. I think you ought to hear it too, actually."

"Harry feels that we should leave Longbottom alone, Tim," Draco told his friend. "In fact, he wants us to leave all purebloods in the other Houses alone, since he's interpreting House Rule Five as meaning that they should all get the same respect we give Terry."

Tim frowned. "We grew up with Terry."

"That's what I told him." Draco sighed. "But I think maybe he's got a point. The Rule does seem pretty clear."

"So no more random hexings of purebloods?" Tim asked, his voice incredulous. "Not even Weasley?"

"Stuff Weasley," Harry said cheerfully. "He's gone out of his way to cross us, so he gets what he deserves and deserves what he gets. Others, like Longbottom, we leave alone. He's such a chicken I can't help but wonder why he's in Gryffindor in the first place."

Tim rubbed his jaw thoughtfully with one index finger. "You could be right. Okay then, from now on, we only hex those who earn it. I guess we'd better tell everyone else."

"Pansy's not going to like this," Draco warned.

"Who cares what she likes?" Tim replied nonchalantly.

Now that they weren't methodically hexing any Gryffindor they caught by him or herself, the Slytherins' lives settled into a fairly predictable routine. Choir practice went on, and they were even starting to sound pretty good. Their private practices at casting hexes and curses had them far ahead of Quirrell's lesson plans. Night-time Astronomy lessons resumed, to Professor Sinistra's great delight. Whenever one of them chanced to pass the forbidden corridor on the third floor, Fluffy's growls and snarls could still be heard if one pressed an ear up against the door. The Stone was, to all appearances, still safe.

Professor Snape continued to act like Professor Snape. He occassionally made appearances in the common room to offer tutelage, he abused the Gryffindors in Potions class, and he maintained a very proper attitude through it all.

Professor Quirrell continued to be Professor Quirrell. He stuttered his way through his lectures, he jumped at unexpected sounds, and he never told them about "the good stuff". His behavior gave the first year Slytherins no clues, but neither did Professor Snape's.

They were all frustrated at their lack of progress, none more than Harry. He wanted to know who had tried to kill him and why. He wanted answers; he felt more than entitled. He hadn't felt his scar hurting in quite awhile, so his possible clue hadn't amounted to much.

Almost before Harry realized it, it was the middle of February, and St. Valentine's Day was upon them. Red, white, and pink decorations were all over the castle, and everyone was exchanging cards. Some cards would sing, others would rhyme, and lots of things were exploding with confetti.

After Draco had warned him that girls expected certain things for this rather silly holiday, Harry had gotten creative and Charmed up his own valentines for the first year girls, each with a little poem on it (stolen from a book, to be sure, but appropriately cited and sourced). He also gave one to Jessica, who blushed prettily and kissed his cheek, one to Molly Archer, and one to Jamie Zabini.

To his intense surprise, he received a pile of valentines, and not just from girls in his year. Jessica gave him a card, as did Molly and Jamie. Samantha Warrington, Erika Chabré, Veronica Sawyer, and Joy duMonde, all second years, each gave him cards. Mandy Brocklehurst, his friends' friend in Ravenclaw, also sent him a card, and he barely knew her.

Tim, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle all got numerous valentines as well. Draco acted nonchalant about it all, but Tim was pleased, and Crabbe and Goyle astounded. Usually only their female friends cared to send cards.

The girls got more emotional about their valentines, but that was only natural. Blaise kept hugging Harry all day, much more than she hugged Draco, Tim, Crabbe, or Goyle. She also spent several long occasions gazing wistfully at Elan, whose eloquence had quite overwhelmed her.

Tim had given Pansy a bunch of dead flowers and a valentine made from black parchment with a poem written in silver ink citing ten ways he'd like to see her die. It was as close as Tim ever got to expressing affection for her. He had borrowed Harry's bottle of silver ink for the inscription, and Harry had laughed as Tim read each stanza aloud.

In contrast to the festive mood inside the castle, the weather that whole week was rainy, cold, and miserable. Harry was not looking forward to playing the weekend's Quidditch match in these conditions. At least the clouds were not weeping when the teams took to the skies.

It was Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, and Slytherin had a commanding point lead over the other Houses, so Harry could catch the Snitch as quickly as he pleased. He hoped that he would be able to catch it soon and get back to the dungeons where he could be warm. The Self-Warming Charm didn't work very well when playing Quidditch.

The first years were all concerned that the teacher who had jinxed Harry's broom in his last match would try again. Tim and Blaise looked worried when they saw Professor Snape sitting in the faculty section. They had both brought binoculars to watch for any foul play. Millie, Draco, and Pansy looked quite pleased to see their Head of House, and likewise had binoculars, to watch Professor Quirrell. Jenna said that after having failed once, the guilty party wouldn't try the same stunt again, especially with Professor Dumbledore sitting right there in the staff section. Goyle and Crabbe left the thinking to the clever ones. If Goyle was needed for action, he would be ready.

Perhaps it was just bad luck that had them sitting near Weasley and his Gryffin-friends. Draco preferred to think of it as an opportunity. He poked Weasley in the back of the head.

"Ow! What's the big- Malfoy, I might have known. What do you want?" Weasley's voice was cold, and he resisted rubbing the back of his head where Draco had poked him.

"Sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there. I thought it was an ugly house elf." Draco snickered.

"How long's Potter going to stay on his broom this time?" Weasley asked in a nasty tone of voice.

"Why, Weasley, did you want to make a bet? Does your Mommy allow you to gamble?" Draco's drawling sneer was in full force.

Weasley's face got red. "Don't you have a go at my Mum," he threatened, shaking a finger in Draco's face.

"L-L-Leave him a-alone, Malf-foy," Longbottom stuttered, turning around to face the Slytherins. From the look on his face, he'd rather be anywhere else, even up in the sky on a broom playing target for the Beaters like Ravenclaw's Keeper was currently doing.

"Back off, Longbottom," Tim barked, making Longbottom jump thirty centimeters easily. "Keep your nonexistent brain focused on your own business."

"He gives good advice, Longbottom," Draco drawled. "And he speaks truly about your brains."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley interjected.

Longbottom turned bright red. "I'm w-worth t-t-twelve of y-you, Malfoy," he blustered.

"Just like I told you, Neville, good man," Weasley said in an encouraging tone of voice.

That statement set the Slytherins bursting with laughter. The Gryffindor continued flushing red. Draco regained his breath first. "Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's just pathetic."

"I told you to shut up, Malfoy!" Weasley said, rising to his feet. He looked like he was ready to start hitting people.

Draco looked through his binoculars and hummed a little tune to himself. Without realizing it, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were soon humming along with him. Crabbe and Goyle came in humming the harmony, and Tim began to sing a bit.

"'_As noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride,_

With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side,

He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree,

He asked her name, and she said 'twas Mollee.'"

"Stop that!" Weasley ordered his Housemates. "No singing with Slytherins!" He was red in the face. "Wait! What song is that?"

"Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee," Thomas answered. "It's one of the songs we're singing in choir."

"Arthur and Molly?" Weasley half-shouted, completely enraged. "Arthur and Molly! Those are the names of my Mum and Dad! You slimy bastards, you set this all up to have a go at them."

"Weasley, calm down," Tim pleaded. He waited until Weasley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The truth is, I knew both of your parents' names and requested that we sing this song solely because I knew it would hack you off." Tim's voice was so absolutely serious that they all cracked up laughing.

Weasley got red in the face and dove at Tim without another word. They fell to the floor, kicking and punching at each other. The Gryffindors all watched with semi-interest. The Slytherins' eyes remained glued to the skies. Up in the air, Harry swooped past Madam Hooch to grab the Snitch, and the match was over, 210 to 40.

The cheering was deafening from the throats of the youths in green and silver trim. The Slytherin team landed gracefully on the pitch where Bole and Derrick lifted Harry up onto their shoulders. His friends all hurried towards the stairs to go congratulate him. Crabbe and Goyle separated Weasley from Tim, who had Weasley in a headlock, but was getting punched in the gut repeatedly.

"That's enough," Crabbe said gruffly as he grabbed Weasley by his shirt collar and dragged him off.

"Tim, you okay?" Goyle asked, offering a hand up.

"Thanks," Tim replied. "Where were you two?"

"We figured you could handle him for a few seconds," Goyle teased him. "If it had gone on a bit longer we would have grabbed his neck for you or something."

There was a small party in the Slytherin common room that evening. Several of the older students nipped down to the kitchen and had the house elves send up a whole smorgasbord along with pumpkin juice, milk, and tea. Harry spied some other of the older students drinking out of metal flasks, but didn't inquire of it.

Harry was man of the hour. Everyone wanted to shake his hand. Many of the girls gave him belated valentines. All in all, it was rather embarrassing to be made so much of along with Flint and the rest of the team. None of the team members were allowed to do anything for themselves. Everything was fetched to them, poured for them, and the choicest morsels were theirs for the consuming. At the head of the table, reserved for the Captain, Flint wasn't even feeding himself; Elizabeth Archer, one of the choir's star sopranos, was sitting on his lap and holding his fork for him.

The party was a loud, boisterous affair, made more so in that it was Saturday, and there were no classes the next day. The celebrating went long into the night. Harry was toasted again and again.

It went on the next afternoon, as well, with everyone standing when Harry or another team member arrived at the table. People raised their goblets in salute. Harry thought his cheeks might well fall off from blushing so hard.

Harry was very happy though. He'd done something that he could be proud of. Nobody could say he was lucky anymore, or just a famous name. Harry had caught that Snitch with some very skillful flying, and he'd done it all by himself.

Things had calmed down by the time classes started on Monday, and soon everyone was back to the same old routine. Choir practice went on with only a short time before Easter and their first performance. The first years continued their private practices at casting hexes and curses. They spent long hours every night reading their books, pouring over their notes, and practicing their Charms and Transfiguration.

The month of March slipped by. Gryffindor lost their Quidditch match to Hufflepuff, leaving them in dead last for both the Quidditch Cup and House Cup. Gryffindors continued to provide the Slytherins with entertainment during Potions lecture.

The weather began to occasionally get warmer, and the snow slowly dwindled. Now and then, the sun would come out to visit. Finally, one did not have to don one's heaviest sweater just to survive through the school day. Then, on the first day of April, Blaise came rushing into the boys' dorm room after classes. They all looked up in surprise as she collapsed against the door frame and put on a tragic face. "The world is going to end!" she cried.

to be continued...


	15. It's Good To Be In Slytherin

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Fifteen - It's Good To Be In Slytherin**

On the first day of April, Blaise came rushing into the boys' dorm room after classes. They all looked up in surprise as she collapsed against the doorframe and put on a tragic face. "The world is going to end!" she cried.

"What?" all the boys echoed.

Blaise raised one hand and pressed the back against her forehead. She tilted her head. "Armageddon is upon us! We sit our exams in only eight weeks, and I haven't yet begun to revise!"

Draco laughed loudly. "You're such a drama queen, Blaise."

"But it's tragic!" she insisted. "And we're all going to have to draw up study schedules. We need to pass these exams to come back next year."

"Relax," Tim told her in a bored voice. "We made up schedules two days ago. _I_ keep track of things like this."

She made a rude gesture in his direction. "Tragic," she said again.

And Blaise was quite right to say that it was an urgent thing that exams were only eight weeks away. Harry was inclined to agree with her, as the teachers seemed to think the students needed to study hard as well and relentlessly piled on the work. He studied fervently, trying to complete all his homework the night it was assigned and seldom succeeding.

With such work piled high on their desks, the Easter holidays weren't nearly as enjoyable as Christmas time. The only real break in their schoolwork came on the last Sunday of the holiday when the school choir had their first performance.

Harry tugged nervously at the collar of his shirt. For this performance the students wore only the uniform shirts and trousers that they customarily wore under their robes. There were no House crests visible, and even the neckties in the House colours were absent. They were merely the Hogwarts School Choir.

The tables were pushed up against the rear wall of the Great Hall, and all the benches were lined up facing the steps that led up to the High Table where the staff sat for meals. The Choir waited in two lines up against each side wall. The Sorting Hat waited at the front on its stool.

The bell tolled the hour, and a silence settled over the audience. The lights dimmed. Those at the back of the line touched their wands to the candles they held and ignited a flame. That flame was passed from candle to candle, wick to wick, up the line. When all the candles were lit, the choir took the stage. Without preamble, they launched into their first song, accompanied by a spooky piano that no one could see.

__

As noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride,  
With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side,  
He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree,  
He asked her name, and she said 'twas Mollee.

Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be,  
To draw the red wine for yourself and for me!  
I'll make you a lady so high in degree,  
If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!

The opening was strong and loud, the boys' deeper voices carrying powerfully through the air. They sounded better than they had ever sounded in practice. It was the presence of the audience, Harry knew, and the pressure was on them to be great.

__

I'll give you fine ribbons, I'll give you fine rings,  
I'll give you fine jewels, and many fine things;  
I'll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee,  
If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!

I'll have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings,  
None of your jewels, and other fine things;  
And I've got a petticoat suits my degree,  
And I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.

Harry felt good about what he was doing. The choir was not merely some collection of those who it just so happened could sing. The various components; the different voice parts, the different age groups, the different Houses, had all come together. They were into the song with feeling now, singing with heart and enthusiasm.

__

Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your penknife,  
And I will go home, and I'll kill my own wife;  
I'll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three,  
If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!

Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so,  
Go home to your wife, and let nobody know;  
For seven long years I will wait upon thee,  
But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.

The male voices alternated with the female voices. Back and forth, they weaved together the tale of a love that was true, but could not be fulfilled. It was a good story, and by singing it, they gave it a haunting quality all its own.

__

Now seven long years are gone and are past,  
The old woman went to her long home at last;  
The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free,  
And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee.

Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride,  
With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side:  
Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me,  
And ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.

As the first song drew to a close, Harry could see Weasley at the back of the Hall with a dark scowl on his face. He hadn't enjoyed the music, to judge from his expression. He was probably still hacked off that the choir had sung a song with his parents' names in it. He turned away from the performance and stalked out of the Hall. The air rang with their last note. Then the audience burst into thunderous applause. The Sorting Hat turned and bowed to them all.

"Thank you, thank you," it said in a satisfied tone of voice. "That was _Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee_, a traditional aria from Northumbria. The Sir Arthur referred to is no less a personage than Sir Arthur Haslerigg, the Governor of Tynemouth Castle during the Protectorate of Cromwell." The audience was silent, not having expected a history lesson. "This next song is called _Blow Away The Morning Dew_."

__

There was a knight both young and fair,  
Came riding o'er the hill  
As he rode out one May morning  
To see what he could kill.  
Blow away the morning dew  
Dew and the dew  
Blow away the morning dew.

He look-ed high, he look-ed low,  
He cast another look  
And then he spied a pretty maid  
A-bathing in the brook.  
Blow away the morning dew  
Dew and the dew  
Blow away the morning dew.  


As they launched into the second tune, a lot of Harry's nervousness had drained away. Their audience was enjoying the show, and that made it easier to perform well. The last five verses of the song came effortlessly, even the repetition of the chorus where the soprano soloists' voices went soaring above the rest in a lilting coloratura.

This song also was very well-received, and the applause bounced off the walls. Harry found himself grinning. The choir was turning out to be a smash hit. The Hat turned to bow, but did not speak. It turned back, and they launched into the next song.

__

This is my Father's world,  
And to my list'ning ears,  
All nature sings,  
And round me rings  
The music of the spheres.  
This is my Father's world,  
I rest me in the thought  
Of rocks and trees,  
Of skies and seas;  
His hand the wonders wrought.

Harry had never been particularly religious. The Dursleys had paid lip service to the Church, attending services on Christmas, Easter, and certain other holidays. Harry had been locked in his cupboard during those times, so he did not have any clear theology. The song held little meaning for him.

The applause for the semi-religious tune was fairly enthusiastic. The Hat bowed deeply. "_This Is My Father's World_, one of my favourite songs. It's an old traditional aria with roots in the Church, composed by Maltbie D. Babcocks. Our last selection for you is one that everyone may know, but I must ask you not to join in. The song is called _Jerusalem_, but you may know it as _England's Mountains Green_."

__

And did those feet in ancient time  
Walk upon England's mountains green?  
And was the Holy Lamb of God  
On England's pleasant pastures seen?  
And did the countenance divine  
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?  
And was Jerusalem builded here  
Among these dark satanic mills.  
Bring me my bow of burning gold!  
Bring me my arrows of desire!  
Bring me my spear! O Clouds unfold!  
Bring me my chariot of fire!  
I will not cease from mental fight  
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand  
Till we have built Jerusalem  
In England's green and pleasant land.

This last song was amazingly popular, and the applause went on and on. The Hat turned, and they all bowed. People in the audience began to stand up, still applauding.

Millie was grinning broadly. As people began to mix and mingle, Harry went up to her and gave her a hug. "We did it!" he cheered.

"Our choir is a success," she said. Her cheeks were rosy and bright. "And what a show it was."

"We sounded _good_," Jenna said, joining in the conversation.

"Damn right we did," Pansy agreed. "And it was _fun_ too!"

"Too right," Draco chimed in. "Did you see Weasley storm out during our first song?"

"He looked fit to be tied, that git," Tim laughed.

"Were you aware of his parents' names when you suggested the song in our first meeting?" Blaise inquired. "You appear to be deriving too much pleasure from this to have been ignorant."

"I knew," Tim said proudly. "It was a simple matter, really. I just owled home and asked Father. I knew I'd be able to put the information to good use at some point."

Slytherin flattened Hufflepuff in the Quidditch match some weeks later. The score was completely ridiculous, 300-30. Harry flew circles around the Hufflepuff Seeker, and catching the Snitch seemed like the easiest thing in the world. As he flew his victory circuit of the pitch, he thumbed his nose at Weasley, for that third victory had clinched the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin.

The party in Slytherin House that night was wild. Once again, there was a table set up for the team members. Once again, nothing was too good for them. Once again, they had every want and desire catered to. Once again, the best bits of food were served up to them on silver platters.

Captain Flint had Bridget Sawyer, a fifth year, and Heather Duke, a sixth year, giving him all kinds of personal attention. They held his fork and knife, feeding him as though he were a king.

Harry was enjoying the festivities. Though he wouldn't let anyone feed him, Blaise kept his goblet filled, and Jenna kept his plate piled with food. People all around him were drinking and eating and laughing; good friends were having a good time.

In addition to celebrating their Quidditch victory, they were also celebrating Draco's birthday. He was now twelve years old. He had a seat at the table as well, and was taking great pleasure in giving Pansy orders. She made faces at him, but generally did as he asked. It was his birthday, after all.

The weather was bright and sunny the next morning, so Jenna suggested going for a picnic. They could get out of the castle and get some fresh air. Apparently it had been a plot on her part, because several baskets were delivered right at lunchtime. They each contained enough food to feed a small army, or maybe just Crabbe and Goyle.

The first years tromped outside the huge castle doors and stopped to just soak it all in. They walked to the grass right in the spot before the hill began to slope. Draco stomped his foot a couple of times and pronounced it adequate.

Tim drew his wand and cast an incantation Harry had never heard before. "_Arefacio!_" There was no change to the ground that Harry could see. He threw Tim a questioning look.

"Drying Charm," his bookish friend said. "Very practical, very useful. Works on just about anything, and it's not dangerous."

They spread out their blankets. Jenna opened the basket and started pulling out plates and containers, and within a few minutes, there was nearly as much food as on the table in the Great Hall.

"Shall I be Mother?" Blaise asked, picking up the teapot. No one objected, so she began pouring.

"This was a good idea," Harry said, laying on his back to stare up into the sky.

"Too right," agreed Tim. "We've been cooped up inside so long, I'd forgotten what the outdoors smells like."

"Why not look it up in the library?" Pansy asked him, not bothering to sneer. She seemed half-hearted, as though her cutting remark were through force of habit. Tim growled at her, but didn't rise to her bait. The day was too nice for arguing, even for that pair.

They talked of small things, avoiding all talk of classes. Harry was just listening to Millie tell about the time she'd managed to catch a muddy pig during a rainstorm when Draco stood up and called out to someone. "Oi, Terry!"

Terry Boot, their friend in Ravenclaw, had also stepped outside for a breath of air. He had very large brown eyes, a round face, and close-cropped light brown hair. Harry had only spoken to him a handful of times, but had found him to be a pleasant sort of fellow.

He was accompanied by Mandy Brocklehurst and Padma Patil. Mandy was a short, but pretty girl with big black pigtails. Padma had extremely tan skin. She wasn't dark, per se, but Harry had grown up in an isolated area and was fascinated. He liked her dark hair, which she wore back in a long braid.

"Looks like quite the little party," Terry said, sitting down next to Blaise. "Where'd you lot steal all this from then?"

"My Mum sent it up," Jenna told him. Mandy joined her on the blanket while Padma sat next to Harry.

"Brilliant idea, I must say," Mandy complimented Jenna. "That castle gets so damp and dreary sometimes."

"Everyone knows Padma, right?" Terry asked. Everyone except Harry nodded.

"We haven't formally met," he spoke up. He stuck out his hand. "Harry Potter."

Padma's eyes grew wide momentarily, but she controlled herself well. "Padma Patil," she replied in a clear voice. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Harry grinned at her.

"Where were you three off to?" Draco inquired.

"Just out and about," Mandy answered. "I was tired of looking at my notes, so I decided to go stretch my legs and asked if anyone wanted to go with me. These two are just tagging along."

"A Ravenclaw got tired of studying?" Jenna observed slyly. "That's like a Slytherin growing weary of purity."

Padma made a face at her. "Oh, we're still _thinking_ about academics," she retorted, "but we're just not chewing quills at the same time."

Everyone laughed easily at that. The Slytherins shared some of their food, and about three different conversations started up. They talked about the professors and about their fellow students. Harry was pleased to learn from Padma that Weasley acted like a prat in his other classes as well. The Ravenclaws shared History of Magic with Gryffindor, and she told him that Weasley was always running his mouth before, after, and even sometimes during class.

The rest of the picnic was enjoyable. Jenna had had a wonderful idea. Harry was glad for the opportunity to spend some time with his other classmates. They only shared the one class, and Herbology was always very busy.

When the air grew colder, they packed up their basket and hastened indoors. The break in the day had been wonderful, but as Mandy pointed out, there was studying to be done. When most of his work was completed, Harry put it aside.

Tim was scribbling furiously on an essay for History of Magic, so he asked Elan to instruct him in some of the finer points of wizard chess. Elan quickly showed his superiority to Draco, and even Tim, as he trounced Harry in a handful of moves through half a dozen contests.

Then Elan began teaching Harry tactics, and he paid careful attention. The game of strategy held a fascinating appeal. His pieces, while still not completely sure of his abilities as a general, had at least stopped shouting insults at him by the time Harry and Elan were done.

Almost before he knew it, Draco and Tim were ushering him off to bed. "You can play chess tomorrow," Tim said firmly. "I'll play you myself."

"You need sleep, Harry," Draco agreed. "Classes are bright and early tomorrow."

The boys said goodnight to the girls, and retired to their dormitory. Goyle yawned hugely, causing Crabbe, Tim, Draco, and then Harry himself to yawn in progression. He kicked off his shoes, changed into his pajamas, and went to bed.

The pace of the next week was exhausting, as it was clear that the teachers were gearing up for end of the year examinations. Harry and his friends stumbled out of the dungeons on Friday, completely worn out by the work Professor Snape had set them to. They emerged from the dungeons alone; all of the Gryffindors had been ordered to remain behind.

They had planned to use the free afternoon for studying, but Harry had other ideas. After Christmas, he and Millie had never resumed their Friday afternoon tea with Hagrid. Now knowing what they did about the Stone, they thought they had little need to visit the man. Further attempts to gather clues from studying the two suspect professors had yielded no results. Maybe it was time to go back to the well.

Harry knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut. "Coming!" he called out over Fang's barking. After a couple of minutes, the big man opened the door. "Oh, 'allo there. I 'aven't seen you lot 'round 'ere in awhile. What've yeh been up to? Stayin' outta trouble, I hope."

"Of course!" Harry said instantly.

"Well don't jest stand out there, come in."

They sat down at Hagrid's table, and the big man poured tea. He passed around a plate of cookies that Harry had mistaken for rocks. Fang, of course, went right to Millie for some petting.

"'Aven't seen yeh since Christmas," Hagrid said. "How were the holidays, 'Arry?"

"Very pleasant," Harry replied. "All my friends sent me Christmas gifts, and I'd never gotten anything before."

"Those bastard Dursleys," Hagrid growled. "I've a mind teh go back and give that fat little cousin of yours a matching set of ears fer 'is tail."

"You're not supposed to do things like that," Harry admonished him. "You could get into trouble."

The big man sipped from a pocket flask and said nothing. An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Finally Millie spoke. "Hagrid, we know about the Stone," she said plainly.

Hagrid's face grew dark and mean for a second. Then he sighed and rested his elbows on the table, putting his face in his hands.

"So how'd yeh find out?" Hagrid asked them. His deep voice was muffled slightly because of his hands.

"I knew I remembered Flamel's name from somewhere, but I just couldn't think of where," Harry told him. "Then I opened up a Chocolate Frog and got Dumbledore on the card." He held it out to show the big man. "'...and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel.'"

Hagrid peered at the card. "A'right, so yeh found out who he is. 'At don't mean nothin'."

"We found a book in the library under the alchemy section," Millie informed him. "It was easy to find once we knew what we were looking for. The book told us all about Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone."

Hagrid's face grew dark. "I hope yeh dinae go tellin' tales all around the school. Students aren't supposed teh know about the Stone. It's here 'cause someone tried teh steal it outta Gringotts, as yeh've probably figured out."

"We didn't tell anyone," Harry assured him.

"But we have our suspicions about who's trying to steal it," Millie told him. "It's either Professor Snape or Professor Quirrell."

"'At's a bin full o' rubbish," Hagrid scoffed. "Those two 'elped teh _guard_ the Stone. They're not apt teh go stealin' it, now are they?"

"There are other defences aside from Fluffy?" Harry asked. "Can you tell us what they are?"

Hagrid frowned at him. "O' course I can't," he said, surprised that they had even asked. "First off, I don't know meself. Secondly, yeh already know far too much, so I wouldn't tell yeh anyway. That Stone be here fer a good reason. It's dangerous in the wrong hands, and those wrong hands are trying teh steal it."

"Can you at least tell us who else Dumbledore trusted enough to help guard the Stone?" Millie asked, and Harry was inwardly cheering at her genius. Hagrid revered Dumbledore, and reminding him of the Headmaster's trust in him was a wonderful way to flatter the big man.

Hagrid's chest swelled up a bit, and Harry knew Millie's quick thinking had won the day. "Well, there's Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, very nice lady, Professor Dumbledore himself done something, then Professor Quirrell and Professor Snape."

"That's so nutty that one of those two would help to guard that Stone." Harry shook his head. He didn't know which was the guilty party, but whomever he was, he had Dumbledore fooled completely. There was a clear and present danger to Hogwarts.

"T'only sounds nutty because there ain't no plot ter be stealin' the Stone," Hagrid admonished them. "Now I want yeh to ferget about this business. Yeh oughta be worried about yer studies."

"We're keeping up, Hagrid," Harry said a bit defensively. "I'm earning top marks in Potions, I'll have you know."

"Well, Professor Snape is known teh favour 'is own," Hagrid muttered darkly, sipping at his flask again.

Millie stood up, shoving Fang's head out of her lap. "We need to go, Harry," she said with a distinct chill in her voice. "Good day, Hagrid."

Harry also rose and placed his cup on the table. Wordlessly, he followed Millie out of the hut. As they set off back to the castle, he could plainly see that she was fuming.

"How dare he," she seethed. "Of all the rude things to say, saying such disrespectful things about our Head of House."

Back in the common room, the other first years grew very angry when told what Hagrid had said. Draco was perhaps the most eloquent.

"Didn't I tell you it would be like this, Harry?" he stormed. "Everyone's jealous of us. They think we can't get ahead fairly. They think we cheat." Draco scowled fiercely. "We're the best, and they just can't accept it, so they tell lies about us. That giant oaf," he said scornfully. "We ought to give him a good hexing, is what we ought to do."

"That could be fun," Tim said thoughtfully. "We've got the perfect defence too. We could hardly be expected to tolerate someone insulting Professor Snape. Next week you can go down as usual, get inside, and hex him a bit. Then just say that Hagrid was being insulting, and you got angry."

"You say that like you're not planning to go," Blaise laughed at him. "Surely you'll be able to spin that tale properly when we're questioned about it."

Tim frowned. "I'm not _going_ to be there. Only Harry and Millie have a legitimate, pre-established reason for being there. Lots of people have seen them leaving the castle at tea time. Everyone knows where they're going. If the rest of us tag along, it'll look planned, and that would make us look like liars if we try to tell that story."

"Just us?" Millie asked. "Goodie, we get him all to ourselves."

"That's bloody unfair," Pansy pouted. "Smelly beast, I'd hit him with a Bubble Bath Charm."

"Surely _one_ more person could go along," Draco reasoned. "I'll make sure to give him a hex for each of you."

"Who says _you_ get to go?" Jenna demanded. "Selfish prat, always thinking of yourself first. All of us have the right to go, and it's not going to automatically be you just because your name is Malfoy."

"We'll draw stones for it," Blaise decided, and she magicked up a green velvet pouch and a set of stones, seven black, one red. "Whoever draws the red stone gets to go with Harry and Millie to hex Hagrid."

That seemed the fairest method, and they all gave assent. As a neutral party, Harry held the bag as each of his friends pulled out a stone. When they all opened their hands, it was Jenna who had the lucky red stone. Draco pouted.

"I'll do requests," Jenna promised. "Any hex you want me to cast, I'll cast it."

They spent the rest of the time before dinner discussing what hexes to cast. Dinner came and went quickly, and then they spent the hours before curfew in a secondary Potions classroom practicing their spells. They would have stayed longer, for they had no fear of wandering the dungeons at night, but their beds were calling to them.

Harry felt better after practicing his spells, as he always did. Each spell was a reminder to him that he was a wizard, he was special. He would never have to put up with Dudley's hitting again, or Uncle Vernon's shouting, or Aunt Petunia's orders, because the Dursleys hated and feared magic. All too soon, the summer holiday would be here, and Harry would be able to pay the Muggles back for some of the hell he'd endured. He couldn't actually cast spells, but giving them a good scare would be almost as fun. It was with those pleasant thoughts in his mind that Harry fell asleep.

to be continued...


	16. The Dragon Egg

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Sixteen - The Dragon Egg**

"I wish I were going," Pansy said sadly as they got up from the lunch table. It was Friday, and after a week of anticipation, the day of Hagrid's come-uppance had arrived.

"Myself as well," Blaise moped, her usual smile nowhere to be seen. "Woe is us."

"We've discussed this," Jenna said patiently. "It can only be Harry, Millie, and myself."

"Doesn't mean we have to be happy about it." Draco griped, kicking moodily at a spot of nothing on the floor. "Big oaf has insulted all of us, saying what he said."

"He had no right to talk that way," Millie agreed. "Not when he's not even a proper wizard. He's just the outdoors janitor."

"Even if he had finished school," Tim argued, "he wasn't in Slytherin. Only fellow Slytherins may judge us."

"Solidarity," Goyle nodded.

"I like that." Crabbe grunted.

"It's just a question of being judged by one's peers," Draco continued. "And none of the other Houses are our equals."

"Isn't that the truth?" Millie asked rhetorically.

"Hagrid seemed a decent fellow," Harry said morosely. "When he took me away from the Muggles, I thought he was so nice. He even brought me a birthday cake, the first one I'd ever had. He did some magic, too."

"Magic!" Draco said, astounded. "What sort of magic?"

"He gave Dudley a pig's tail," Harry told him.

"So that's what Hagrid meant when he said he wanted to give your cousin a matching set of ears!" Millie exclaimed.

"He's not supposed to do magic!" Draco was still very surprised, to judge by the tone of his voice. "He was expelled, and they snap your wand when you get expelled."

"Indubitably," Blaise agreed. "How could he have done magic? Where would he have gotten a wand from?"

"He didn't use a wand," Harry said. "He was pointing his umbrella at things. Dudley, the firegrate to start a fire, and so on."

"He could probably be in a lot of trouble if anybody found out about that," Tim mused, scratching his chin. "If he kept the pieces of his wand, he could have put them into his umbrella. You'll have to make sure he doesn't get near it while you're hexing him."

"That's only if he's sober enough to remember," Pansy laughed.

"When Hagrid and I got to Diagon Alley, he ran off to the pub as soon as he could," Harry said, getting back to his original story. "I went to get my robes fitted, and he went back to the Leaky Cauldron, for a pick-me-up, he said. He knocked on the window while Draco and I were standing on the stools, but he left quick enough."

"He probably ducked back inside for another 'pick-me-up'," Tim said with a sneer.

"Oh, I _know_ that's what he did," Harry assured him. "Draco and I both took a very long time to find our wands, and Hagrid must've spent all that time drinking. When he finally came along, he was bellowing and shouting just like my Uncle Vernon."

"That he was," Draco said, remembering. "His face was pretty red, as I recall."

"Drinking in front of students," Millie said with audible disdain. "It's disgusting. What sort of example is he setting? That flask he carries around, he's always having a sip out of it."

"And he was unaccountably rude to Draco's father. Mister Malfoy was perfectly pleasant to me," Harry told his other friends, "and Hagrid was carrying on like the world was ending. After he dragged me away, he said all _sorts_ of nasty things."

"Oh really?" Draco asked curiously. "Like what?"

"Well, he said your whole family was trouble and that I'd be better off staying away from you." Harry flushed at even _speaking_ the awful things Hagrid had said.

"Boils," Draco stated, folding his arms.

"What?" Crabbe asked.

"Boils," Draco repeated. "Jenna, I want Hagrid to get some boils on his arse. Take care of it for me, would you love?"

Jenna smirked. "Be glad to. Everyone else decide what they want me to cast for hexes?"

As the others gave Jenna their requests, Tim walked next to Harry. "So you've got the story straight?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Hagrid was drinking and insulted Professor Snape. We got very angry and hexed him. Then we ran away."

"Good," Tim said, pleased. "This is a risky business, you know," he cautioned.

"I know," Harry said somberly. "It's probably going to mean lost points and detention for us all."

"Not as much as if it gets out that we planned this all," Millie chimed in. "Or if all of us were going down there."

"Indeed," Tim agreed. "It's worth it, though."

"Yup," Millie said. "Professor Snape told us to make sure we had good reason for doing the things we did. Defending his good name is certainly reason enough."

"Well I just hope his name is good and worthy of defense," Tim said quietly. "I don't want to believe he's the bad guy in this muddle about the Stone, but I can't deny the evidence."

"Let's not get into this argument again," Harry pleaded. "Let's just keep focus on the short-term for now. We defend our House."

They all scurried off to the unused Potions classroom that they had turned into their own private practice space. Harry, Millie, and Jenna all set to casting their spells, practicing for teatime. The others cast, read, or wrote assignments. May was here, and examinations were coming soon.

When the bell tolled three o'clock, Harry and the two girls left the castle. Wordlessly, each ready for the task ahead, they walked down the path and across the grass at an agonizingly slow pace. Smoke curled up to the sky, despite the temperate weather.

Harry knocked firmly on Hagrid's door. Fang began barking, drowning out anything the Gamekeeper might have said. After a few minutes, the door opened a crack, and Hagrid stuck his face out.

"I dinae expect you lot to come back after last week," he said brusquely, "but I'm very busy today. Perhaps next week." He started to close the door.

Millie stuck her foot in the door. Before Hagrid could react, all three Slytherins had pushed their way inside and drawn their wands.

"'Ere now, what's this all about?" Hagrid demanded, outraged.

"Last week you insulted our Head of House," Millie informed him. "We're here to extract retribution."

"Revenge, yeh mean," Hagrid said, folding his arms across his chest. "The Headmaster'll hear about this, mark my words."

"No doubt," Jenna said cooly. "But how else are we supposed to react when you insult our House right in front of us? No, I think our punishment will be quite lenient."

Harry was focused on keeping his wand pointed at Hagrid, but he was being distracted by the heat of the roaring fireplace. The interior of the hut was sweltering, and Harry was sweating profusely.

There was a rattling sound from the fireplace.

"Well," Hagrid boomed, talking loudly, "do what yeh feel yeh have ter do. I don't suppose apologizin' would do any good."

"What was that noise?" Millie asked, not allowing herself to be distracted. The rattle came again, like iron clacking on iron.

"It's nothin'," Hagrid said. "Jus' the wind rattlin' this shaky ol' place."

"It's coming from the fireplace," Jenna said, and she headed in that direction.

"Please, won't yeh all jus' get on with it?" Hagrid pleaded with them, but Jenna was resolute. She peered into the fireplace, under the pot that sat above the burning coals.

"Hagrid!" she half-shouted. "What are you doing with one of those?" she demanded.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he rushed over to see. Hagrid groaned and put his face in his hands.

"It's a dragon egg," Jenna told him. "Hagrid, have you taken complete leave of your senses? Breeding dragons is illegal! It's a direct violation of the Warlock's Convention of Seventeen-oh-nine, even _you_ should know that."

"A dragon egg?" Millie asked, coming closer. "Wicked! Where'd you get it, Hagrid? Must've cost a fortune."

"Won it," he muttered, very embarrassed. "Las' night I were down in the village havin' me a few drinks. Got into a card game with a stranger, an' he put it up fer stakes. Lucky draw I got, three kings an' a pair o' sevens, so I took the egg. I think he were quite glad ter be rid of it, but me, I'm happier 'n' a clam."

"What are you going to do when it hatches?" Jenna demanded. "Keep it in here all the time? Hagrid, you live in a _wooden_ house!"

"I bin doin' some readin'," Hagrid said, ignoring the admonition and pulling a book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library - _Dragon Breeding For Pleasure and Profit_. It's an older book, teh be sure, but that sort'a information dinae go bad. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, yeh feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here - how to recognize diff'rent breeds an' diff'rent eggs. This one I gots here is a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

"Hagrid, this is _insane_," Harry tried to reason with him. The big man wasn't paying any attention, just prattling on about baby dragons.

"Well, this has been interesting," Millie said, "but we have to be going now."

Hagrid stopped his chatter. "Yeh ain't goin' ter hex me? Yeh won't be tellin' anyone about _this_, will yeh?" he asked, his face full of hope.

"We've got something better than a hexing," Millie told him. "Hagrid, you're asking us to be accessories to a crime. We have to report this."

"Yeh can't!" Harry thought Hagrid's face might fall off, so heart-broken did he look.

"There might be another way," Jenna said in a silky tone. Everyone looked to her. "Hagrid, what's our silence worth to you?"

The big man scowled. "What would yeh be needin' money fer? Yeh've all got more'n yeh know what ter do with."

Jenna shook her head, sending her straight blonde hair waving around. "Not money, Hagrid, information. We want to know more about the magic guarding the Philosopher's Stone."

From the look on Hagrid's face, they knew they had him cornered. He didn't dare tell them, but he didn't dare refuse to tell them either. He was damned if he did, and doomed if he didn't.

Jenna smiled sweetly at him. "We'll talk more about this next week," she said with a tone full of sugar. "Harry? Millie? Let's go."

As they walked down the steps to the dungeons and headed towards the dorm, they discussed what sort of information they should ask for, as well as the possibility that Hagrid might be insane.

"We'll want to know what the protections on the Stone are," Millie said. "And also what professor set which protections."

"What in the name of the Founders does he think he's doing with a bloody dragon egg?" Jenna demanded. "And he thinks he can hatch the bloody thing?"

"Trying to raise a dragon in that tiny hut?" Harry asked, still incredulous. "He's a complete loon."

"He had to have been completely drunk to have even considered taking that dragon egg as stakes," Jenna declared. "But it makes no nevermind to me," she continued. "Now we've got him over a barrel and can find out everything we need to know about the Stone and the protections over it."

They continued on their way, completely unaware of a pair of wide, freckled ears that had heard everything.

Over the next week, the Slytherins continued revising for their examinations. Though disappointed when told that Hagrid hadn't received his hexing, the others were beyond gleeful at the blackmail material they now had. It was hard to maintain a cool demeanor, acting as though everything were normal. They were so focused on studying and keeping things under wraps, they didn't even bother to antagonize Weasley, though he gave them several excellent opportunities.

After Quidditch practices, one of their group would always drift nearby to Hagrid's hut and peer in the grimy, dirt-stained window. On Tuesday afternoon, Millie reported that the dragon had hatched. This was great news, because it would be much more difficult for Hagrid to rid himself of a live dragon.

"Not that there's much worry of that," Jenna said disparagingly. "What with the way he was prattling on about all the stuff he found out from books-"

"Hey!" Tim objected. "Don't knock what you can learn from books!"

"I didn't even realize he knew how to read," Draco laughed.

Friday came not soon enough, and Potions lecture seemed to drag on and on. When they were finally free, the Slytherins calmly exited the classroom, calmly walked down the hall, calmly rounded the corner, and bolted for the Great Hall. They ate as quickly as they could, then hurried back into the dungeons to do some more revising.

"Let's get to work," Jenna said, drawing her wand.

"What for?" Harry asked. "Aren't we just going to ask him questions?"

"Yes," Jenna answered him. "But the information is in exchange for us not telling about the dragon. He still gets his hexing for insulting our House."

"Surely you hadn't forgotten," Draco said to him.

Harry shook his head. "No, I hadn't forgotten the insult, but with the dragon egg and all, I thought we weren't going to hex him."

"Vengeance is a dish best served cold," Blaise told him. "You might have put it off for a bit because of the egg, but you can't forget what he did to earn that hexing in the first place."

Harry considered that for a moment. It made sense. He was proud of his good marks, and Snape certainly had nothing to do with what he earned in Astronomy, Charms, or Defense Against the Dark Arts. The only thing Snape could influence was his Potions marks, and Harry knew he'd earned every single point.

"You're right," he conceded. "We musn't forget to hex him after we know everything. But," he cautioned, "we can't hex him _until_ we know everything either."

"Right," Jenna said. "I've got the list of questions. We'll get our answers."

When Harry knocked on Hagrid's door a few hours, Hagrid was quick to throw the door open for them. They tramped in, looking around for the dragon.

"Yer too late," Hagrid told them, drinking from a large goblet. "Li'l Norbert's gone."

"_Gone?_" they said, not believing.

"Aye," he said, sounding very pleased with himself. "So ye've got nothing ter blackmail me with." He took another large swallow.

"Where's it gone to?" Jenna demanded.

"I sent him ter Romania with Charlie Weasley," Hagrid told them, boasting of his own cleverness. "He works with 'em there, so Norbert'll be safe."

"Weasley!" Harry exclaimed.

Hagrid's face clouded. "I shouldn'a said that," he muttered.

"How did Charlie Weasley know about the dragon?" Millie asked him. "Where did he take the little bleeder?"

"Young Ron tol' me about Romania, an' he gone off ter the village to visit with his brother, and-" Hagrid stopped speaking. He put down his goblet. "I shouldn'a said that," he said again, his voice shaky.

"Weasley's left school grounds?" Jenna said, not believing her ears. "Millie, Harry, let's go!" They ran for the castle.

"Got. To tell. Professor. Snape." Millie panted as they ran.

They burst through the main doors and were running pell mell when Professor McGonagall stepped into the corridor. "Halt!" she demanded. The three Slytherins skidded to a stop. "What is the meaning of this? Running in the corridors is not allowed," she told them. "It is a reckless and dangerous activity. Explain yourselves immediately."

Harry looked at Millie. Millie looked at Jenna. Jenna looked at Harry. They all nodded. "Ron Weasley has left school grounds, Professor," he said, trying to sound believable.

"Rubbish," she told him at once.

"It's true!" Jenna came to his aid. "He's helping smuggle a dragon to Romania!"

"Miss Moon, you will cease telling such outrageous lies at once."

"She's not lying," Millie protested. "We've seen the dragon ourselves!" They had only seen the dragon through the windows of Hagrid's hut, but that counted.

"Silence!" Professor McGonagall's lips were a thin, white line. She stared down her nose at them, her face all pinched up. "I will not listen to such disgusting falsehoods. You're obviously only trying to get Mister Weasley in trouble. Detention for all three of you! Get back to your House immediately. I shall be speaking with Professor Snape about this, you mark my words. I will _not_ have you lying to teachers. Go!"

Harry wilted in the face of McGonagall's wrath. It wasn't fair, he seethed. Just because they were in Slytherin, people automatically assumed that they were lying about everything. Even Professor McGonagall, who was noted for being fair and impartial, wouldn't believe them simply because the story was so incredible, and she automatically assumed the worst about them.

However Weasley had learned about the dragon, he'd obviously taken it on himself to destroy the leverage the Slytherins had over Hagrid. And now they had detention on top of it. It made him want to hit something.

There was no opportunity for them to plot a suitable vengeance upon Weasley, but word reached them through the grapevine that Professor Snape had caught Weasley sneaking back into the castle after curfew and assigned him detention, in addition to taking points. They took a small amount of comfort in this news; at least they hadn't lost any points.

The week passed slowly, as their days were filled with potions ingredients, charms, hexes, dates of magical discoveries, dates of goblin rebellions, moons, stars, herbs, fungi, and everything else they'd learned about during the past school year. Harry and the others studied long into the night.

There was no time for chess or Exploding Snap or other games. The Slytherin common room was a quiet place nowadays as every student focused on reading books and scribbling notes. Professor Snape began to spend long hours sitting in a chair by the fireplace grading homework, but always ready to put it aside to help someone with a question.

They didn't just ask him about Potions. The Potions Master did hear plenty of those questions, of course, but he also answered inquiries about Charms, hexes, jinxes, curses, Ancient Runes (which was a class older students could take), Arithmancy (likewise), herbs, fungi, and Transfiguration. All of the students went to their Head at least once with a problem. Professor Snape helped everyone, never raising his voice, never giving up on them. It was plain to see that everyone revered him.

"Those facts have got to be wrong," Harry said to Tim one night as they were getting ready for bed. "I just can't believe that Snape tried to hurt me."

"Are we going to bring this up _again_?" Draco said tiredly.

Tim's face was troubled. "No, Harry's right. I've watched Snape this week, too, and it's not clicking."

"Professor Snape cares a lot about us," Harry said. "Any fool can see that."

"Ah, so you're a fool, are you?" Draco said slyly.

Harry made a face at him. "You see it too, Draco, don't deny it. He's our Head of House; I say we go to him with what we know about the Stone. He'll help us, I just know it."

Draco nodded. "I do see it," he agreed. "Maybe we ought to just forget about the whole thing. Maybe Quirrell only wants the Stone to cure his stutter."

The boys all laughed. "Good one, Draco," Goyle grinned.

"That would be truly horrible," the blond boy continued. "Can you imagine being immortal and stuttering constantly? Who would want to?" He started laughing again.

"We're not forgetting anything," Harry said sharply. "It was Quirrell who tried to kill me, and I mean to make him answer for it."

Draco sobered quickly. "Right. I hadn't forgotten that."

Tim lay down and pulled his sheets up to his chin. "We'll talk about it in the morning," he yawned. "Right now, I couldn't even make a cheese sandwich."

Monday morning at breakfast, notes were delivered to Harry, Millie, and Jenna. All three notes were identical messages from Deputy Headmistress McGonagall informing of the terms for their detentions.

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

M. McGonagall - Deputy Headmistress

With all the studying they'd been doing, Harry had quite forgotten about their detention. Now that he was reminded, he was still furious about the injustice of the whole situation. Not only were the three of them going to be wrongly serving detention, but they would also miss out on a night's studying. Harry vowed then and there that he'd miss out on studying Transfiguration to make up for the time lost, and he said so.

Millie agreed with him. "That old hag didn't want to believe us," she said, "so I'm not going to bother myself with studying for her class."

"If she asks me why my mark is so bad, I won't hesitate to tell her that I couldn't study because I was wrongly given detention," Jenna concured. "Forget Transfiguration."

"Yes, forget it," Tim advised. "We've got Herbology to think about right now."

"Fine," Pansy mocked him. "We'll think about plants, and you can think about Mandy."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I think I'm going to take up with her," he said in an exasperated tone, "just to have the satisfaction of making you shut your mouth for five bloody minutes."

Pansy smirked at him. "Aww, did I hurt your feelings, Timmy?"

He ignored her. "Now then, Millie, tell me about dittany."

"Time to go to class," Harry sighed as he stood up. Right now, he wished he were going to Potions lecture. Watching Professor Snape abuse Weasley would probably do wonders for his mood.

Tim quizzed them all on the walk down to the greenhouses. Harry knew the answers to the questions Tim asked him, the questions Tim asked his other friends, and the questions that Professor Sprout asked the class. He wasn't worried about his examination, not when Herbology was so closely tied to Potions, a subject he truly enjoyed.

Terry, Mandy, and Padma all said hello to him as he went to his station. Ever since the picnic, the three Ravenclaws had gone out of their way to be friendly, and that was nice. His fellow Slytherins were already friends with Terry and Mandy, but Harry was pleased that Padma was getting on well with them too.

After Herbology was History of Magic, which Harry hated. Even when he tried to stay awake, he dozed off after a few minutes. Reading the book was boring enough, but Binns' monotonic droning made him want to learn exorcism. The bell woke him for lunch, and he stumbled down the corridor.

"I'm hungry," Goyle said, rubbing his tummy.

"Yeah," Crabbe agreed. "Food is good." He turned to glare at Draco. "And don't call me a fathead!"

Draco affected an air of injured innocence. "The very thought never crossed my mind."

They spent their free period after lunch studying in the library. While the dungeons were cozy, time they spent traipsing up and down the stairs was better spent reading. Harry was regretful when their free period was over. They couldn't forget about Transfiguration any longer.

Professor McGonagall's eyes were cold and hard as they filed into her classroom. The Slytherins wordlessly took their seats and prepared to be lectured. She was always polite, but sometimes she spoke in an acid tone, and they could tell she didn't think much of them. Ever since she had assigned Harry, Millie, and Jenna detention, the Slytherins hadn't liked the Deputy Headmistress much either, so it balanced out.

Harry half-listened to her lecture. She was just reviewing the material they'd covered last week, and he was bored. His thoughts drifted to his detention in a few hours. He'd gotten in trouble at Muggle school before, but he suspected that his punishment would be at least more interesting than writing lines on the chalkboard.

"Mister Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked. Bugger, she'd caught him not paying attention.

"Sorry, could you repeat the question? I don't think I heard it all," Harry said casually. He wasn't going to let her get to him.

"Five points from Slytherin, Mister Potter," she said coldly.

The bell rang before he could protest, and they quickly headed back to the dungeons. Harry slouched along in a foul mood. Nothing was going right today. He tried not to let it bother him while he concentrated on his homework, but he kept staring off into space.

He barely tasted his dinner. He didn't try to do anymore homework and spent some time getting to know his chessmen. When the hour for his detention rolled around, Harry was still in a bad mood, so when he, Jenna, and Millie came up the stone steps from the dungeons into the entrance hall, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he saw who else was present.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

to be continued...


	17. Detention In The Forbidden Forest

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Seventeen - Detention In The Forbidden Forest**

"What are _you_ doing here?" Harry demanded, his voice full of hatred and malice. Millie and Jenna flanked him, folding their arms across their chests imposingly.

Ron Weasley glared back across the entrance hall at him. The git turned to look at Mr. Filch, who was grinning sadistically. "I don't want to serve detention with _them_," he protested.

"Nobody cares what you want, Weasley," said Filch in a gravelly voice. "When it comes to detentions, you don't get to do things you like." He lit a lamp and leered around at them, the lantern casting flickering shadows on his pock-marked face. "Follow me," he said ominously.

Filch led the way outside, marching across the dark ground. "Bet you'll think twice about breaking rules again," he taunted them. "Oh yes, some hard work'll show you. Hard work and pain are the best teachers in the world, if you ask me. Such a pity they phased out the old punishments. Hangin' by your wrists for a few days on the ceiling, that'd teach you. I've still got the chains in my office, you know. I keep 'em well-oiled in case they ever change their minds."

The old man's voice was raspy, as though he'd spent a great many years outside in rough weather. In telling them about the old punishments, he sounded wistful, but not terribly disappointed. He must know what they would be doing tonight, Harry realized, and it was sufficiently horrible that the caretaker didn't think they were getting off easily.

"Don't think of running off, now either," he warned them. "It'll only be worse for you if you do."

The moon was bright, but the sky was cloudy. Harry knew that Professor Sinistra, watching the stars, would be livid, taking the presence of the clouds as a personal affront. The intermittent light threw shadows everywhere. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted window of Hagrid's hut.

"Is 'at you, Filch?" Hagrid's booming voice called out. "Hurry up, I want teh get started."

"Wants to get started drinking," Jenna whispered to Harry.

Harry's heart fell. Hagrid certainly wouldn't go easy on them after what they'd done and tried to do. This night was looking longer and longer. He suppressed a groan.

"Yer late," Hagrid rumbled at them. He peered intently into their faces. "Filch, yeh bin tellin' 'em tales an' scarin' 'em? 'At's not yer place. Yeh've done yer bit. I'll take over from here."

"Bah," said the old man, spitting on the ground. "I'll be back at dawn for what's left of 'em." Without further comment, he took his lantern and went back to the castle.

"Hope yeh dressed warm," Hagrid said ominously. "We're goin' in ter the Forest teh look fer summat."

"The Forest!" all four students exclaimed together.

"'At's right," Hagrid answered them. "Summat's bin huntin' unicorns, and we're gonna track it down."

"There's all sorts of Dark creatures in there!" Millie protested.

"Then you should feel right at home," Weasley muttered.

"Shut up, Weasley!" Jenna snapped at him. "Isn't the Forest out-of-bounds to students?" she demanded of Hagrid.

"Should've thought o' that before yeh went breakin' rules, now, shouldn't yeh have?" Hagrid replied.

"We didn't break any rules!" Harry shouted at him. "Professor McGonagall thought we were lying about _your_ bloody dragon! She didn't believe us just because we're Slytherins!"

"What dragon?" Weasley asked innocently.

"You know very well what dragon, Weasley!" Millie yelled at him. "How'd _you_ get detention, anyway?"

Weasley was silent, staring at Millie with hate in his eyes.

"Professor Snape caught you sneaking back inside the castle, didn't he?" Jenna crowed.

"I _wondered_ how he seemed to be waiting for me," Weasley said slowly. "You tattled on me, didn't you?"

"You should have left well enough alone," Harry sneered at him. The nerve of that git!

"Since everyone here knows we _weren't_ lying," Millie said conclusively, "the three of us will wait right here."

"Bye-bye, boys," Jenna said, waving at them. "Have fun searching the Forest!"

"Yeh'll do as yer told," Hagrid growled at them. The Slytherins stared back at him defiantly. It was a contest of wills, and Hagrid really had no chance. Armoured by the knowledge that they were in the right, Harry, Millie, and Jenna stood firm. Finally Hagrid looked away.

"C'mon, Ron," he grumbled. He picked up his lantern and crossbow. Fang followed close at his heels as Hagrid stomped off towards the treeline.

Weasley glowered at them for a moment. "You'll get yours," he threatened before he also followed.

"This could have been a lot worse," Jenna commented, sitting down on the grass.

"Yeah, but we're stuck here for the next few hours," Harry pointed out.

"Only from one point of view," Millie said, reaching into her robes and pulling out her collapsible brass telescope. "I came prepared."

"That's funny," Jenna smirked, also reaching into her robes. She brought out a pack of cards and held them up. "Because so did I!"

Harry laughed. By Merlin, he loved his friends.

They watched the stars and noted the way the planets had shifted. Jenna observed that Mars was unusually bright. Whenever clouds covered up the sky, they played card games. They talked about the various unpleasant fates that Weasley deserved.

About two hours had passed when Harry heard a noise from the forest. He turned, hoping it would be Hagrid, done with Weasley's detention, so he could go sleep. He didn't see the glow from the big man's lantern. He peered into the darkness, sure his mind was playing tricks on him. The shadows couldn't be _moving_, surely?

A cold wave of terror gripped him. The shadows _were_ moving, and one of them was drawing closer. Not knowing what was going on, he stood and drew his wand. The girls had risen with him, and they too had their wands out.

The moon appeared suddenly from behind a cloud, and moonlight revealed a figure cloaked in shadow, with bright silver liquid dripping from its mouth. The strange creature came towards him, quicker than anything, stretched out long and crawling across the ground like some stalking beast.

Harry opened his mouth to scream, but only a dry wheeze of air came out. Jenna was terrified too, as her piercing shriek nearly deafened him. Surely someone would hear her.

A pain like he'd never felt before lanced through his head. It was as though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward and fell to his knees, imagining he heard hooves galloping nearby.

Then suddenly the pain was gone. Harry opened his eyes and thought he must be dreaming. There was a centaur standing over him. He recognized it from the description in _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_. It had white-blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"Are you all right?" it asked, reaching out to pull Harry to his feet. "You are uninjured?"

"Yes, I think so," Harry said faintly. He looked over his shoulder at Jenna and Millie, who were wide-eyed and frozen in place. He looked back at the centaur. "What in the name of Hogwarts _was_ that- that _thing_?"

The centaur didn't answer his question. "You are Harry Potter," it said. "You had best be back to the castle. It is not safe for you here, at night especially."

"We, we have detention," Millie said, her voice just as faint as Harry's.

The centaur snorted. "I am Firenze," he introduced himself. "That silver liquid you saw was unicorn's blood. Something has entered the Forest to slay these noble beasts. Do you know what unicorn's blood is used for?"

Harry tried to think past his fright. He failed. "No," he said.

"It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Firenze said darkly. "Only one who has nothing to lose and everything to gain would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death. Such life comes at a terrible price, though. You would have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will live but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Harry didn't know what to think. "Who would do such a thing?" he wondered. "Wouldn't it be better to die?"

"It would be," Firenze agreed. "But if there were something else that you could drink, something that would grant unending life, full strength and full power, Mister Potter, wouldn't that be worth it? Do you know what is hidden in the school, Mister Potter?"

"The Philosopher's Stone!" Harry exclaimed. "Of course, the Elixir of Life! But who-?"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting a single chance?"

An iron fist clamped itself down around Harry's heart and throat. Over the rustling of the breeze in the trees, he heard, plain as day, Hagrid's words to him on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

"Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was-" he couldn't even say it. "That was _Voldemort_?"

Jenna and Millie pressed up against each other in fear of the dreaded name. Millie had heard him speak it before, but her reaction was no less awed than before.

"Harry!" Hagrid called out. "Harry, are yeh alright?"

"I take my leave of you, Mister Potter," Firenze said, disappearing into the night from whence he had come.

"We're fine, Hagrid," Harry called out.

"Thank goodness," he said, lumbering up. "I found another dead unicorn," he told them. "The centaurs tol' me summat's been roamin' around, and it were best if yeh dinae stay near the Forest tonight."

"Or any night," Harry agreed. "We'll just be going back now," he said. Hagrid didn't object. Weasley scowled by way of farewell.

Harry was as tense as a taut string on the walk back. If someone touched him the wrong way, he was likely to break and run. Fortunately there were no further incidents as he and his friends quick-stepped it back to safety. But the deceptive quiet didn't prevent him from carrying his wand in his tight-clenched fist.

When they reached the safety of the common room, he bid Jenna and Millie a good night and retired to his dorm room where he hung up his cloak, pulled off his robes, got into bed, and drew the bedcovers up to his chin. He shut his eyes tightly and waited for sleep to come. Every slightest sound had him jumping. At one point he even reached out to grab his wand. Finally he could bear it no more.

_This is the Slytherin dormitory_, he told himself firmly. _I'm perfectly safe here. Now go to sleep_. And sleep he did.

"We've got to tell someone," Harry said firmly. "This has gotten way out of hand."

The first year Slytherins were gathered in the boys dormitory. Now, after lunch, was the only free time they'd had. While Harry had been impatient to share his new knowledge with his friends, there hadn't been time to address the issue thoroughly. Together in the privacy of the dorm, he, Millie, and Jenna told the others what had happened in the forest. They told about Firenze, the unicorns, and the shadowy figure that had tried to attack them.

"We'll tell Professor Snape," Draco decided.

"Utterly preposterous," Blaise objected. "He is still a suspect."

"He's no more guilty than I am," Millie declared.

"And you have ironclad proof, do you?" Pansy asked sarcastically. "You're one hundred percent sure of his innocence."

"Obviously if such proof existed, we could just go lay our troubles before him," Tim said. "I can't conceive of how it could or would be Snape, but the possibility is there, however remote."

"So what do we do?" Jenna asked. "We're stuck in the middle."

"We go to the Headmaster," Tim said. A volley of protests met that suggestion. "Quiet," he said, raising his voice to be heard. "I don't think much of the Muggle Lover either, but Dumbledore is said to be the greatest wizard of our age. They say he's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. Back during the war, Hogwarts was the only place that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never attacked."

"So long as Dumbledore is here, You-Know-Who won't dare to come after the Stone," Blaise said. "And there's still the matter of the magical defences. We don't know them, but you can bet that Snape would never tell Quirrell how to solve his test."

"The Stone is safe," Harry decided. "But we should go to Dumbledore anyway. I think he ought to hear what the centaur told us."

"What, that You-Know-Who is after the Stone?" Pansy scorned. "I'm sure he already knows that. Why do you think the Stone was moved here from Gringotts? And they have _dragons_ at Gringotts."

They all considered that. "Pansy is right, too," Draco said. "What are we going to tell Dumbledore that he doesn't already know?"

"So what do we _do_?" Millie asked, kicking at the leg of her desk.

"We can't do anything," Jenna answered. "We just have to trust Dumbledore to take care of it."

"I think we _can_ trust him," Harry said. "He's always opposed You-Know-Who. Who could take care of the Stone better?"

"Probably no one," Tim agreed. He pulled out his Potions text. "Now then, I think we've about exhausted this conversation. Harry, tell me about root of asphodel."

Convinced that Dumbledore had the situation under control, they didn't let it bother them anymore. Harry had managed to shake off the worry that Voldemort was lurking right around the corner ready to snatch the Stone and murder him in the night. After their conversation, the Slytherins devoted all of their non-classroom time to studying.

Their exams took place beginning the following Monday. With summer well-started, the heat was mildly uncomfortable, more so in the large classroom where they sat the written examinations for all of their subjects. They had been given special quills enchanted with an Anti-Cheating Charm just for the occasion.

In addition to the written tests, they had practical examinations. Professor Flitwick called them into his classroom one at a time to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across his desk. Old McGonagall watched them with a steely gaze as they attempted to turn a fieldmouse into a snuffbox. - points were given for how pretty the box was, but taken away if it still had whiskers. Professor Snape's exam was a bit ironic. They had to remember how to brew a Forgetfulness Potion.

Their final exam was on Wednesday, and Harry cheered with his friends when Professor Binns instructed them to lay down their quills and roll up their parchment. The agonizing hour of answering questions about batty old wizards and goblin uprisings was ended, and they were free, gloriously free, for a whole week until their marks came back.

"That was much easier than I thought," he heard Granger saying as the crowds of students made their way out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the uprising of Elfric the Eager _or_ the Sixteen-thirty-seven Werewolf Code of Conduct."

God, her voice was so prissy and stuck-up. He'd studied as much as he could stomach for this exam, and still he feared what sort of mark he would receive. He looked over at Draco and tipped his head in Granger's direction. Harry rolled his eyes, prompting Draco to smile.

Outside, the first years lounged about in the warm June weather. They sprawled about in the shade under a tree. Down by the lake they could see the twin Weasley brothers tickling the tentacles of the giant squid.

"I hope it eats them," Draco said, aimlessly pulling apart blades of grass. "Couldn't happen to uglier people."

Confident that Dumbledore had everything well taken care of, they'd let the matter of the Philosopher's Stone drop in favour of studying and preparing and revising. Now that too was behind them, and they were free to just be kids again. They made small talk about nothing at all. They played games. The afternoon was very lazy and indulgent. It was finally drawing towards teatime when Harry felt intense pain in his scar. He clapped his hands to his forehead with a startled exclamation.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Draco asked. He hunched down and looked up into Harry's face.

"My scar," he breathed through the pain. "Burning."

"It's been fine since the forest!" Tim said. "Why is it hurting all of a sudden?"

Harry felt like he was back in his nightmares. All he could think about was the shadow man - Voldemort! - who was after the Stone. He rubbed at his scar, trying to ease the pain. "It's a warning," he said sure without knowing why. "Danger is coming."

Pansy was eyeing him suspiciously. "You sound strange, Harry. Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey."

He shook his head. "I'm not ill," he said. "And I can't stay in the Hospital Wing. Voldemort is coming. I can't let him get the Stone."

All of his friends winced as he spoke the forbidden name. He was past worrying about their delicate ears for the moment. "Quirrell must have found out how to get past Fluffy," he said. He took off for Hagrid's hut with his friends trying to catch up.

"Hagrid, open up!" Harry half-shouted, pounding on the door. "We need to talk to you!"

"Talk teh me, eh?" the big man said, opening the door to his home. "More likely yeh be wantin' ter hex me."

"Never mind that!" Harry said. "Have you told anyone about Fluffy? Anybody in a hooded cloak, maybe?"

Hagrid frowned. "What would yeh be wantin' ter know that fer? I ain't been meetin' with no strangers in no cloaks recently."

"Recently?" Jenna pounced on his words. "So you _have_ met someone in a hooded cloak? When?"

"Back when I won that little thing in the card game," he said. "I dinae think much of it; lots o' folk in the Hog's Head keep their hoods up. It's an unsavoury sort of place, but there's no card playin' at the Three Broomsticks."

"The egg!" Tim exclaimed. "Of course, how could we have been so stupid! It was just too much of a coincidence to be trusted. Hagrid, you always wanted a dragon more than anything, right? And this fellow just _happens_ to show up there with one when you do? It's too good to be true!"

"Did you talk to him, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "Did you say anything about the school?"

"I might've," Hagrid said, his eyes floating. "I tol' 'im what I do; he asked about the creatures I keep. I mentioned wantin' a dragon ever since I were a boy." He frowned, looking as though he were thinking very hard. "It's all kinda fuzzy. He kept buyin' me drinks, yeh know? Well once I tol' 'im about the dragon, 'e shows me this egg 'e 'as and would I like to play cards for it. Double-checked to make sure I could 'andle it, 'e did. I tol' 'him, after handlin' Fluffy, a dragon would be easy."

"Was he interested in Fluffy?" Millie pressed him.

"Oh yeah, o' course he were. S'not often yeh get teh hear about a three-headed dog. I tol' 'im, Fluffy's a real sweetheart if yeh just play 'im some music; he'll go right teh sleep."

"That's it!" Draco cried.

Hagrid looked horrified. "No!" he exclaimed. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he sputtered. "Forget that, please! Hey, where yeh goin'?"

"Where's Dumbledore's office?" Harry shouted as they ran. "He needs to hear about this! His security measures have been compromised!"

Nobody knew where the office was. None of the other teachers were to be found either. Most of them were probably busy grading exam papers. One, Harry knew, was plotting to get past Fluffy and steal the Philosopher's Stone. He said a curse he'd once heard Dudley use. It was all going so horribly wrong.

He went down to the dungeons and into his dorm room and sat on his bed. He sat staring at his invisibility cloak hanging at the foot of the bed, pondering what to do. The pain in his scar had receded somewhat, but was still very much there. He thought long and hard, trying to make up his mind to do what he knew needed to be done.

Finally he rose to his feet as the bell tolled curfew. He flung the cloak about his shoulders. "I'm going after the Stone," he said to his friends, who had been sitting with him in silence. "It's the only way to keep it safe. I can't shake this feeling that it's not protected anymore."

Draco also got to his feet. "I'm going too."

"Me as well," Tim said.

"We'll watch your back, Harry," Goyle said, nodding at Crabbe.

"You're not going without me," Blaise told him.

"Someone has to keep an eye on Tim," Pansy said obnoxiously.

"And someone needs to make sure you two don't kill each other," Millie laughed. "Count me in."

"Jenna?" Blaise asked.

Jenna shrugged. "The more the merrier."

Harry didn't object. He knew that _he_ had to go. If his friends wanted to come with him, he had to trust them to know their business. He wordlessly led them to the common room, out into the corridor, and up to the third floor. For the whole walk they were silent, Harry scouting ahead in his wonderful cloak. Finally they were before the forbidden door.

"Music soothes the savage beast," Tim reminded them. "So we start singing as soon as the door opens, got it? Jerusalem."

"_Alohamora!_" Millie opened the lock. She pulled it open, and they scurried inside.

Fluffy was just as huge as Harry remembered. All three heads locked onto them, three horrible noses sniffing at them, three rumbling growls warning them away.

_"And did those feet, in ancient times, walk upon England's mountains green,"_ Tim sang loudly.

_"And was the Holy Lamb of God, on England's pleasant pastures seen?"_ Draco joined in.

_"And did the countenance divine, shine forth upon our clouded hills?"_ Harry bawled.

From the first sung note, Fluffy's eyelids had gotten heavy. By the third line, the growls had ceased, and the great beast was nodding its heads in time to the music.

_"And was Jerusalem builded here, among these dark satanic mills?_" Pansy, Millie, Jenna, and Blaise were singing now too.

_"Bring me my bow of burning gold!  
Bring me my arrows of desire!  
Bring me my spear! O Clouds unfold!  
Bring me my chariot of fire!  
I will not cease from mental fight  
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand  
Till we have built Jerusalem  
In England's green and pleasant land."_

Fluffy tottered from side to side and then fell to his knees before slumping to the ground. Snores began to drown out their singing, and they knew he was asleep. The dog's hot breath washed over them, and drool slipped from his mouths.

Harry looked around. Other than the way they had come in, there appeared to be no exit from the room. He glanced at his friends and gestured to the four walls. Tim shrugged. Draco looked puzzled.

"There!" Harry spied the trapdoor. He tugged at the iron ring, but couldn't budge it. Crabbe and Goyle nudged him out of the way and lifted it easily. The hole it revealed was dark and foreboding.

"No stairs," Harry said, pitching his voice under the singing, which had begun anew.

Goyle peered down into the darkness. "If there's a bed of spikes at the bottom of this hole, I'm going to be very upset," he said. Without further ado, he hopped lightly into the square of blackness and vanished from sight. "Yar!"

to be continued...


	18. Down The Trapdoor

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eighteen - Down The Trapdoor**

Goyle peered down into the darkness. "If there's a bed of spikes at the bottom of this hole, I'm going to be very upset," he said. Without further ado, he hopped lightly into the square of blackness and vanished from sight. "Yar!"

"Goyle!" Harry called down. "Goyle, are you alright?"

"I've landed on a plant, I think," his voice echoed up to them. "Jump down."

Crabbe shrugged and hopped after his friend. Tim leapt in after him. The girls jumped as well. Finally only Harry and Draco were left.

"Jumping into blackness like this is something a Gryffindor would do," Draco said, his House prejudices appearing even now. "Don't ever tell anyone I did this. Yah!" He dove down into the darkness. Harry followed without a word. He landed on some sort of plant, just as Goyle had said. He made a muffled, funny-sounding thump as he landed. All around him was gloom and darkness.

"Someone make a light," Harry called out.

"_Lumos!_" Blaise said. Then she shrieked. "Get out of here!"

The light revealed a huge plant with vines and tendrils everywhere. Subtly, sneakily, vines had crept up in the darkness and ensnared them. Now, as they realized their predicament, they tried to free themselves, but the creepers bound them faster the harder they struggled.

"It's Devil's Snare!" Tim shouted. "It likes damp and dark! We need light and heat!" He arched back as the vines went for his throat.

"_Incendio!_" Goyle shouted, having managed to draw his wand. Bright orange flames leapt from the tip, lighting all over the plant. Instantly the creeper vines began to retreat, wriggling and flailing to escape. One by one, they each pulled themselves free of the loosening vines and onto stone floor.

"Good work, Goyle," Tim said. "Once again, your little fire spell saves the day."

"If you need fire, I'm your man," Goyle said, grinning.

"You're just a pyro," Millie ribbed him. "Thankfully stone doesn't burn, so _our_ part of the castle is safe."

The only way forward was down the sloping stone passageway. Apart from their footsteps, all they could hear was the sound of their own breathing and the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The light at the end of the corridor beckoned to them, and Blaise extinguished her wandlight.

"What's that sound?" Pansy asked.

As they strained their ears, a fluttering, rustling, clinking sound could be heard from up ahead. It came from a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above their heads. It was filled with small birds, bright like jewels, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite wall, they could see a plain, heavy wooden door. They stood at the entrance to the room, considering.

"Chances of being attacked by birds if we step into this room?" Draco asked lightly.

"Probably fairly high," Tim mused. He drew his wand and pointed it at the far door. "I think we're too far away, but _Alohomora!_" A jet of white light shot from the tip of his wand, but fell short of the door. "One of us has to go out there."

"I will," Blaise said confidently. "I can unlock that door." Without waiting for anyone to object, she darted into the light-filled room, running across the smooth stone floor to the heavy wooden door. No birds made a motion towards her. "I think it's safe to come this far."

"You open the door," Draco said easily. "We'll just watch and approve from over here."

She stuck her tongue out at him and cast the spell on the door. Though the lock flared with white light, the handle stubbornly refused to turn. "Looks like we have to figure out a different way," she said.

The others meandered into the room. Tim gazed up at the open space where all the birds fluttered around in a lazy manner. He looked deep in thought.

"There's got to be some sort of connection," he mumbled, scratching his chin. "They wouldn't be here if they didn't have a purpose."

The birds were tiny, rather hard to see. They soared overhead, glittering in the torchlight.

Millie groaned. "Oh by Merlin's robes, it's so obvious! What kind of bird is all sparkly like that? Look closely, they're not birds at all; they're _keys_! Winged keys!"

They peered up at the birds, straining their eyes. One by one, they each nodded at the truth of Millie's words.

"Well if they've got wings, there's got to be a way to get up there and nab it," Jenna reasoned. She investigated the darker corners. "Ah hah! Broomsticks! We've got to fly up and catch the key to the door."

"Harry can do that easily!" Blaise said enthusiastically.

"Harry's not going to do a bloody thing," Tim said firmly. "You're not going to take any unnecessary risks, you hear me, Harry? You're too important for that. You need to stop You-Know-Who from getting the Stone."

"But I can get that key," Harry protested. He loved to fly, and catching the correct key would be simplicity itself.

"So can I," Draco said, picking up a broomstick. "Hey, a Nimbus Seventeen-hundred, not bad." He mounted and kicked off.

Draco _could_ fly, Harry had no illusions about that. And now that he had a decent quality broomstick under him, he was able to show off some moves that simply weren't possible with the broken-down, school-owned equipment. Draco made quick changes to his course, flying his broom with speed and skill. He would have made an excellent Seeker, Harry thought.

"There's too many of them!" Draco called down to them. "We'll be forever catching and trying them all."

Pansy examined the lock. "Look for a silver key to match the lock, big and old-fashioned, like the keys for Malfoy Manor."

Harry chaffed at not being permitted to go up into the air. He felt at home there, and he knew he would never fall off. He'd managed to stay on a jinxed broom, after all. Could Draco say the same?

The keys were a great protection for the Stone. There were hundreds of them, and they all darted and dived so quickly that catching one was nearly impossible. And once you caught one and it wasn't the right key, you let it go to wander back out and mingle with the others.

"I've caught this key already!" Draco shouted angrily. Clearly they needed a new plan.

Harry grabbed the other broom. He mounted and kicked off before anyone could stop him. He was the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things that others could not. He wove through the whirling cloud of glittering rainbow feathers and saw a largish silver key that had a bent wing. And what could bend the wing of a magical construct other than it having been caught and roughly inserted into a keyhole?

"There!" he said, pointing. "That big silver one with the bright blue wings. The feathers are all crumbled, and the wing is bent. It's been caught before."

"That ought to make it easier to catch then," Draco said, zooming by. "Now get to ground."

"No way," Harry responded, leaning low over his broom and taking off after Draco.

"Harry, knock it off," Draco called to him as they chased after the key. Through the ceiling beams they flew, left and right, up and down, back and front and all around. The flock of keys started zooming around after the boys, seemingly enchanted to protect the one key.

"No! I can get that key!" Harry suddenly felt the desire to stand out, to prove that he didn't need protection. Here in the air, he was in his element, and nothing could stop him.

They were neck and neck now, both reaching out for the key, which fluttered along in front of them just like a Snitch. Harry flashed back to the times they'd played pick-up games of Quidditch and remembered that Draco had been limited by the inferior broom. He reached out his hand just a little further.

Draco bumped his broom into Harry's. "Sorry!" he called. It probably had been an accident, but that only highlighted the risks that flying encompassed.

Harry didn't answer, but leaned so low that he was practically hugging his broomstick. He stretched his hand just a fraction of an inch further, and managed to hook a finger through the ring of the key.

"Got it!" he shouted happily. He slowed up, and the pursuing flock of keys immediately swarmed him. His broom sank steadily towards the floor. "Gah, geroff, stupid birds."

The instant the key was placed in the lock, the other keys flew off. Once it was turned, and the door unlocked, the key took flight again, looking very battered and abused now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking at the unhappy faces of his friends. "What?"

Blaise hugged him. "Harry, that was so reckless!"

"It was something a Gryffindor would do," Pansy said, her voice half-sneering.

"Oh, so now Draco acts like a Gryffindor?" Harry riposted. "Draco, what do you think about that?" He pulled open the door.

"I think that I'm not as important as you are, you git," Draco said, stepping first into the dark chamber beyond the door. "No Dark Lord tried to kill me, so I can take a few risks here and there when we're on our way to confront one of his followers."

As soon as they stepped into the dark chamber, the door slammed shut behind them and torchlight suddenly flooded the room, blinding them, but revealing an astonishing sight.

They stood on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black pieces, which were all taller than they, and carved from onyx. Across the way were the white pieces, spooky and ominous; creepy, for the flickering torchlight revealed that the white chessmen had no faces.

"This is brill," Tim enthused. "I could go for one of these in the backyard."

"Now what?" Millie asked.

"Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong," Tim said, ignoring Pansy's snort of derision, "we have to play our way across the board. We've got to defeat the opposing army to reach, yes, see that door behind white pieces?"

Draco grimaced. "If only Elan were down here. He'd wipe the board clean in five minutes flat."

"Well he's not here," Jenna said. "And that leaves Tim as our resident chesspert."

Tim started. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Harry chimed in. "You taught me a lot about the game. You can do this, I know it."

"I taught you the _basics_, Harry. Something like this," he gestured, "is liable to be far beyond my poor skill."

"Stop being modest," Pansy told him crossly. "You can do this. Just don't think about it and play it as though it were any other game."

Tim nodded his head slowly. "Alright. I'll do it. But how? White moves first, and those pieces aren't going anywhere."

"Join us." The words shocked them, because none of the boys could have produced a voice that deep and powerful. They looked up into the shining eyes of the black king.

"You mean we have to take the place of some of your pieces?" Blaise asked. The black king nodded solemnly.

"Right," Tim said decisively, slipping into his appropriate mindset. "Crabbe and Goyle, go to the corners and replace the rooks. Next to them, Pansy and Millie will be our knights. Draco, Jenna, you two replace the bishops."

"And I get to be the queen?" Blaise inquired perkily.

"Unless Harry wants it," Draco snickered. Harry felt himself blushing.

"No, Harry will be the king. He's the most important piece, and the safest one, as it's taken last." Tim was not really looking at them. He studied the board, probably playing out possible sequences of moves in his head.

"Where will you be?" Harry asked him.

Tim looked directly at Harry, his dark brown eyes very serious. "I'll be standing here. I will be the Chessmaster."

The back row cleared of pieces, and the Slytherins took their places. There was silence for a moment, then the pawn moved to King Four.

Tim's directions were crisp, clear, and blunt. No one argued with him. Chess was not played by committee. He directed the black pieces around the board. The pawns, the only remaining onyx figures, were silent as they obeyed orders.

It was quite a shock when the first piece was taken. Their pawn thrust out with a spear and pierced the white pawn, which dropped its stone sword. Shattered stone chips flew as the piece was destroyed - just like in real wizard chess. Tim visibly gulped.

He played defensively, as he was keen to protect his friends. He moved the pawns forward, moving significant pieces up each in turn to guard them. He captured opposing pieces with the pawns, regretting each one of his own that was taken, for each loss further exposed his friends to danger. Finally only four pawns were left.

Tim had done well, taking more a quarter of the white pieces. The chessboard was littered with the rubble and dust of the destroyed marble statues. His own pieces were arrayed for defense. He could not press for the white king without losing some of his more valuable pieces. And that meant his friends would get hurt. But if he continued to play defensively, he would soon start to lose them anyway.

A drop of sweat rolled down his face. The unseen Chessmaster was good, in fact, brilliant. Every move had a countermove, blocking Tim on everything he tried to do. It was as though the essence of many great Masters had been distilled and imbued in the magic of the board. How could he beat that?

He studied the board intently, taking his time. There was no timeclock in this match. The white pieces were scattered, excepting three protecting the king.

The king was blocked. Tim looked again. The king was still blocked - trapped, unable to move in three directions. Had he found a weakness? Was that the key? He traced the sequence in his mind. Two moves. It was right there. He stared wild-eyed at the board, sure it was a trap. The opposing Chessmaster was too good for that. It had to be a trick!

But there was nothing presently in position to trap a piece that moved into that region. Only the last white rook could be moved into position to defend the square that Blaise could step into to checkmate the king. His eyes fell on Pansy. She was in perfect position to intercept that rook. And she would be sacrificed. Tim bit his lip. He had to do it. There was no other way to win.

"Knight to King's Knight Four," he said in a small voice. He didn't feel very good about himself right then.

"Tim!" Draco said, startled. "That'll put her right-"

"I know!" Tim burst out. "I know! But she has to do it. It blocks the rook and leaves Blaise free to check the king. It's the only way to win."

Pansy looked very scared. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at the massive, solid rook. "I can see the moves, and he's right. If I'm taken, the game is over." Her voice trembled, but she began walking.

Each step came slower and slower. Only another few steps would carry her into the square, but she did not take them. Her face was green. With a pitiful cry, she collapsed to the board, crying uncontrollably.

"I can't," she wept. "I'm scared! Please don't make me!"

Harry's heart lurched in sympathy. He had been holding his breath practically the whole game, half-sick with fear for his friends, praying that Tim wouldn't make a mistake. He hadn't, but now he had been called to make a difficult decision.

"Pansy!" Harry called to her. He half-took a step.

"No!" Tim shouted. "Don't move! You can't, or we lose even more! Pansy!" She lay on the board, shaking and sobbing. "Pansy, you have to be strong," he told her. "I know you're scared, but this is the only way. When we win, I'll stay, I'll take care of you. But you have to do this."

Each of them was aching to go to her. Nothing could be more difficult than having no one to comfort you. Nothing could be more frightening than being told that you _must_ risk your life.

But her weeping ceased. She lifted her head and looked right at Tim. "You'll stay with me?" she said in a small, scared voice.

"I promise," he told her.

She slowly got to her feet. She stood with her back to the rook and looked at Tim. She took one step backwards into the designated square.

The rook came to life, morphing from a stone tower to a rock monster. It raised one horrible hand and slapped at her. She never saw it coming as she was flung into the air, off the board, and against one of the stone pillars at the side with a sickening sound. Harry winced.

"Quickly," Tim said in a sick voice. "Blaise, run up and stand a square away from the king."

Blaise ran. She set foot inside the square. "Checkmate!" Tim called, running to Pansy's side.

The king's greatsword, which he had been resting his hands on, point down, fell loose and crashed to the board. He reached up and removed his crown, dropping it on the board at Blaise's feet. The game was over. Those who had played rushed to where Pansy lay with a small pool of blood under her head.

"Is she alright?" Jenna asked. "Aside from being bashed into a pillar like that, of course."

"I don't think her head's cracked," Tim said, probing at the back of Pansy's skull. "Gi-normous lump here though. She won't be waking up for a long time, but she'll be happy about that. If she's lucky, she won't wake up until after she's been treated."

Harry brushed away a stray lock of Pansy's hair. "I think she's already been really lucky. She could have been killed."

"I know." Tim's voice was little more than a whisper. "But it had to be done." He set his jaw and looked up at them all. "You need to keep going. I'll stay here."

"Pansy needs Madam Pomfrey," Draco said. He turned to Crabbe. "Get back up into the castle. Go find any teacher except McGonagall and get help. The rest of us are going after the Stone."

Crabbe nodded and opened the door back into the key room. Now that the chessmen had been conquered, the door stayed open. Harry, Draco, Millie, Jenna, Blaise, and Goyle all walked towards the far door. They emerged into another stone corridor, a respite before the next challenge.

A disgusting odor wafted out at them when Harry pushed open the door at the end of this hallway. Blaise pulled her robes up over her face. "Eew," she said, retching, for flat on the floor in front of them, out cold with a great bloody lump on its head, was a mountain troll, even larger than the one Harry, Draco, and Tim had tangled with.

Harry tried not to gag. He held his nose and took shallow breaths. When they had moved on and firmly shut the door behind them in the smell-free room beyond, they all expelled long-held breaths, thankful for the fresh air. "Glad we didn't have to mess with that one," Harry commented.

"You three were foolish to go after it in the first place," Blaise told him.

"So Snape told me," Harry grinned. "And so Draco objected at the time."

The room they were presently in contained nothing very frightening at all. There was only a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"This would be Professor Snape's challenge," Draco said.

When they had all moved away from the door, a purple fire burst into life in the doorway, making them jump. In that same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

"Definitely Professor Snape's," Jenna observed dryly.

"Here's a clue," Millie said, picking up a roll of parchment lying next to the bottles. She read it aloud:

_ Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,  
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,  
One among us seven will let you move ahead,  
Another will transport the drinker back instead,  
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,  
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.  
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,  
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:  
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide  
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;  
Second, different are those who stand at either end,  
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;  
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,  
Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides;  
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right  
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight. _

As she read, Millie's face fell more and more. She was clearly overwhelmed by the puzzle, just as Harry was. This was tricky business. One wrong move and they'd be dead. But despite their dismay, Jenna was smiling.

"This is brilliant. I'd expect no less from Professor Snape," she said admiringly.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked her.

"It's not magic," she said. "Not proper magic at all. It's a logic puzzle. It involves critical thinking."

"And wizards don't exactly behave logically, is that what you're saying?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "As purebloods, we're rather immune to the fact that magic is not completely logical. In fact, more than half of it is rather _illogical_. And this sort of puzzle would trip up most fully-trained wizards."

"And also us," Draco pointed out.

"Not at all," Jenna scoffed. "Use your brain. All the information we need is right here on the paper. There are seven bottles. Three contain poison; two hold wine; one will let us go forward; the last will let us go back.

"So which is which?" Goyle asked.

"Well, since the poison is always on the wine's left, the first bottle has to be poison," she said.

"Huh?" Draco questioned.

"The parchment says that the bottle on either end are not our friends to move forward. And these two here," she pointed, "are the same, wine. The fourth and fifth bottles here are poison, both on the wine's left side, note, and the potion to go back is in the one on the right. That leaves the small bottle, number three, to help us go forward."

Harry picked up the bottle. "There's not much here," he noted. "Barely a swallow. Enough only for me."

He looked at his friends. Each of them had risked a lot to stand here with him, and now he was having to walk on without them. "You all might as well go back to wait with Pansy," he said, marveling at the absence of shaking in his voice. "There's plenty of the potion to go back."

Draco said nothing, merely squeezing his upper arm in unspoken support. Goyle clasped his hand in an iron grip. Blaise hugged him fiercely, and he returned it. Millie looked at him for a long second before she also hugged him. When Jenna's turn came, she squeezed his ribs briefly and tousled his hair.

"Be careful, ok?" she said. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "For luck."

Millie took a swallow from the round bottle at the end. Immediately she shuddered, and Blaise had to catch the bottle as Millie dropped it.

"It's not poison, is it?" Draco exclaimed anxiously.

"N-No," she chattered. "Feels like ice."

She dashed through the purple flames. "It's fine!" she called back to them. One by one, the others drank and stepped through the flames. Harry watched them stoically. Then he was alone.

He took a deep breath and uncorked the bottle. "Here goes nothing," he said, and drank it all in one go.

It was indeed as though ice were flooding his body. This is what Snape had meant about "the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins." He placed the bottle back on the table and stepped forward into the flames. Though he braced himself, he could feel nothing. For a moment he saw nothing but the dark fire. Then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

He was not alone.

to be continued...


	19. The Man With Two Faces

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Nineteen - The Man With Two Faces**

Harry saw nothing but black flames. It was rather like he imagined stepping into a black hole might feel. Complete, baffling, disorienting darkness engulfed him. There was suddenly no stone floor beneath his feet. He couldn't feel the walls around him.

He panicked briefly, but he forced himself to relax. It was just like Professor Snape to throw a nasty trick into his test. It was only the magic. Harry felt a warm reassurance spread out from his stomach, erasing the icy chill of the potion he had swallowed. He let his body continue on, though he could not feel it. Then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

He was not alone. Someone was already there, standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, which Harry hadn't seen since Christmas. Harry's scar lit up with pain. Blinking back tears, he focused on the person who stood gazing into the enchanted glass.

It was Professor Quirrell.

"_You!_" Harry said with loathing.

The pain in Harry's head winked away as Quirrell turned to smile at him. It was an evil smile, and the man wasn't twitching at all. Something was definitely very wrong here.

"Me," he said evenly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"I knew it was you," Harry said with an edge in his voice. His wand was in his hand; he didn't remember drawing it, but now he kept it concealed in the folds of his robes.

"You always were clever, Potter," Quirrell laughed again. It was not his normal, high-pitched, nervous, treble laugh, either, but was cold and sharp. "You earned the top marks I gave you in Defence."

Harry noted that remark with cool pleasure, but didn't let himself be distracted. "You've been behind all the strange things this year, haven't you?" he said. "The troll at Halloween, that was your doing."

"Quite right, Potter," Quirrell answered him, still calm as you please. "I have a special gift with trolls. I brought that troll in to create a distraction while I went to go look at the other protections on the Stone. Snape already suspected me by that point, untrusting bastard that he is, and headed me off at the third floor. That was a perfectly wasted night, because not only did my troll fail to violently beat you to a bloody pulp, Hagrid's miserable three-headed dog didn't even manage to kill or maim Snape properly."

"And the Quidditch match?" Harry continued, his temper rising. He could feel the anger and fury growing within his chest.

"Yes, that was me as well. And once again, thanks to Snape's counter-jinxing, you managed to survive. You have the most damnable luck, Potter." Quirrell's face grew stony. "But it ends tonight!" He snapped his fingers.

Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry, pinning his arms to his sides. His ankles snapped together, likewise bound. Harry wavered and nearly fell, biting back a foul word he'd learned from Tim. He hadn't been fast enough. But he had managed to keep his wand and held it out of sight.

"You know entirely too much to be allowed to live, Potter. I shall dispose of you in a moment. Be silent while I examine this mirror."

Harry stayed quiet as Quirrell turned his back. "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," he muttered, tapping his foot impatiently. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something ingenious. He's in London, but he'll be back soon. Too late, too late..."

Harry twisted his wand in his fingers. If he could touch it to the ropes, he ought to be able to break them. He couldn't afford to drop it. - There! He felt the ropes around his arms loosen.

"I see the Stone," Quirrell said, staring hungrily into the mirror. "I am presenting it to my master." His lips twisted in an angry snarl. "But how do I _get_ it?"

Harry bent down and touched his wand to the rope around his ankles, which sprang loose immediately. What in the world was he going to do?

"Master, I don't know what to do," Quirrell was muttering. "I don't understand, should I _break_ the mirror? Is the Stone inside? Master, help me." Strange as it might seem, Quirrell appeared to be expecting an answer.

"Is- is your master _here_?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

Quirrell stopped pacing. "He is here," the wizard said quietly. A spasm of fear flitted across his face, reflected in the mirror. "He is with me wherever I go. I met him when I traveled the world. I was a foolish young man then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, but only _power_, and those too weak to seek it. Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have disappointed him many times." Quirrell shuddered. "He does not tolerate failure lightly. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. My punishment was that he would keep a closer watch upon me."

Harry's mind was flashing back to the day in Diagon Alley. He _had_ seen Quirrell that day, had even shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Master, I cannot solve this puzzle. I need your help."

To Harry's sudden horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Ussse the boy... Ussse the boy..." It was a low, dry voice, dusty like a snake's hiss. Harry couldn't imagine what human throat could make such a tone.

Quirrell rounded on Potter. "Come here, boy!"

Harry ached to raise his wand. If he could cast some spells and incapacitate Quirrell, then he could find the Stone. _Locomis toner,_ he thought. No, that wasn't right. His head was throbbing; he couldn't think of any suitable spell. He stumbled towards the Mirror.

How did this final trick work? The Mirror had to be the key. It showed you whatever you desired most deeply in your heart. _Okay, what I want more than anything else in the world at this moment is to find the Stone before Quirrell does,_ he thought. If he looked in the Mirror now, he should see himself finding it. He could see where it was hidden. He would simply lie; make something up to tell Quirrell.

Quirrell stood behind him, watching him like an avenging hawk. Harry gagged on the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He cleared his mind of all but his desire to keep the Stone away from Quirrell.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. A moment later though, his reflection grinned at him. The mirror-Harry reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a blood-red rock. He winked and slipped the Stone back in his pocket, and as he did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. He suppressed a gasp. Somehow - incredibly - _he'd gotten the Philosopher's Stone!_

"What do you see, boy?" Quirrell demanded impatiently.

Harry's mind was reeling. "Incredible," he breathed, putting all of his very real astonishment into the word. "Slytherin has won the House Cup. That's not incredible, of course, but we've won the Quidditch Cup too. I know _that's_ not incredible either, but I- I'm Captain of the team!"

Quirrell cursed at him. "Step aside, you useless boy," he growled, shoving Harry out of the way.

Harry stepped back, wondering if he dared to make a break for it. He could leave Quirrell down here struggling with the Mirror for hours. The Stone was heavy against his leg, but before he had taken two steps, the strange voice spoke again. "He liesss... He liesss..."

"Potter!" Quirrell shouted. "Come back here! Tell me the truth! What did you see?"

Harry ran for the door. Just as he thought he was going to make it, scorching flames roared up in the doorway. He fell back, cringing away from the heat.

The voice spoke again. "Let me ssspeak to him, face-to-face."

Quirrell's own face became solemn. "Master, you are not strong enough."

"I have ssstrength enough for thisss..."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Terrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The purple cloth fell away, revealing Quirrell's bare head, which looked strangely small now. Then Quirrell turned around.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been the back of Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. It was a horrible face, one that Harry had seen in his nightmares.

"Harry Potter," the lipless mouth whispered.

Harry was trapped, pinned between the wall of flame and his own terror.

"Sssee what I have become?" the face said. "Mere ssshadow and vapour, that isss all I am. I have form only when I can ssshare the body of another. Unicorn blood can ssstrengthen me, as you sssaw in the forest, but the Elixir of Life can ressstore my powers, and I will create a new body for myself. I grow tired of waiting, Harry Potter, ssso why not give me the Ssstone?"

"Master, he does not have the Stone!" Quirrell protested.

"Oh yesss," Voldemort hissed. "He hasss the Ssstone. Asssk him. Asssk him what he hasss in his pocket!"

So he knew. Harry raised his wand, determined to make a good accounting of himself.

"Don't be a fool, boy" snarled Voldemort. "Sssave your own life. Give me the Ssstone and join me."

"NO!" Harry shouted.

"Join me, or you will meet the sssame fate as your parentsss. They died begging me for mercy."

"LIAR!" Harry screamed.

Quirrell was walking backwards at him, so Voldemort could see Harry. The evil face was still smiling at him, chilling Harry to the core.

"How brave," it hissed. "I alwaysss admire bravery. Your parentsss were very brave, yesss? Your father died firssst, but he challenged me like a fool. He put up a courageousss fight, the sssame as your mother. Ssshe died for you. Give me the Ssstone, or she will have died in vain."

"NEVER!" Harry didn't know what spell he cast, but the jet of blue light was deflected away by some sort of shield.

"Seize him!" Voldemort screamed. Quirrell whirled around and clamped his hand down on Harry's wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as if it were splitting in two.

Harry yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened. He looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers, which were blistering before his eyes.

"The burning!" Quirrell cried.

"Seize him!" Voldemort shrieked again. Quirrell dove at Harry, landing on top of him, and he wrapped his hands around Harry's throat. The pain from Harry's scar was nearly blinding him, yet he could see and hear Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot touch him! It burns me so!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the floor with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his hands as they blistered and smoked. Harry could see the flesh looked burned and raw.

"Then kill him!" shrieked Voldemort. "Kill him and take the Stone!"

Quirrell raised his hands to perform some deadly magic, but Harry lunged up and clapped his own hands to Quirrell's face.

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell scrambled to get away from him, his face blistering just like his hands. Then Harry figured it out: Quirrell couldn't bear the touch of his bare skin. Harry could use that against him.

Harry managed to get his feet under him and sprang at Quirrell, falling on top of him down to the floor. He had to keep the Dark wizard in enough pain that he couldn't cast a deadly spell. He grabbed for Quirrell's face.

Quirrell was screaming in agony. Voldemort was screeching for Quirrell to kill Harry. Harry was nearly going mad from the pain in his scar. He felt himself blacking out and latched onto Quirrell as hard as he could. Nonetheless, he was slipping down into blackness. Down, down, down...

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! Harry reached out his hand to grab it, but his arms felt so very heavy.

His eyes were open, but he couldn't see very clearly. Then his glasses were placed on his face, and he could see that it wasn't a Snitch at all, but rather a pair of glasses, belonging to one Albus Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said in a friendly tone.

Harry stared at his Headmaster, not entirely understanding. Then everything came back to him in a rush. "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell, he-"

"Easy, Harry, easy," Dumbledore said soothingly. "Calm yourself, please. Quirrell does not have the Stone."

Harry relaxed, sinking back into the bed. "Sir, what's happened? How long have I been out?" He looked around, noticing for the first time that he was in a bed with white linen sheets. On the bedside table were many packages of candy.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore beamed at him, noticing where Harry had been looking. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind the half-moon spectacles. "So, naturally the entire school knows."

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days," Dumbledore answered him. "Your friends have been most worried about you."

"My friends!" Harry exclaimed. "Pansy! Is Pansy alright?"

"Harry, I must insist that you calm down, or Madam Pomfrey will have me removed," Dumbledore smiled. "Miss Parkinson is quite alright. She woke up with nothing more than a nasty headache here in the Hospital Wing. She is quite recovered, I assure you."

Harry took a deep breath. "Will you please tell me what happened, sir?"

Dumbledore shifted himself in his chair. "Professor Quirrell did not manage to take the Stone away from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say. Quirrell is dead, and the Stone is destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Harry said blankly. "But your friend Flamel, he-"

"Ah, you know about Nicholas, do you?" Dumbledore said, sounding pleased. "I say, you _did_ do this thing properly, didn't you? Nicholas and I have had a little chat, and we agreed it's all for the best."

"But he'll die, won't he?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "He has sufficient Elixir to last until he has set his affairs in order. But yes, very soon he will die."

"I- I'm sorry, sir." And he was. Flamel was a great wizard, and his death would be a great loss to the world.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems quite incredible, but to Nicholas and his wife Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was not really such a wonderful thing as all that. Yes, it gives limitless wealth and endless life, but in acquiring the skills and knowledge to make such a substance, one rises above such petty wants and desires. They are the two things that most human beings would choose above all, yet these are precisely the worst sort of thing for them."

Dumbledore went silent, and Harry tried to wrap his brain around everything. Dumbledore hummed a little ditty and looked up at the ceiling, giving Harry time to think.

"Sir?" Harry asked after a time. "Even if the Stone is gone, _he_ is still out there."

"He, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him pointedly. "Say his proper name. A fear of a mere name only increases a fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "Voldemort, he's going to try other ways to come back, isn't he?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid he will. He is still out there somewhere, most likely looking for another body to share. He left Quirrell to die, for he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies.

"Nevertheless, Harry, while you may have only delayed his return power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight a losing battle next time, and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know. I'd like to know the truth."

"The truth," Dumbledore sighed. "The truth, Harry, is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. I shall answer your questions as best I am able, unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I must beg your forgiveness. I shall not, of course, lie to you."

"That's fair enough," Harry agreed. "Voldemort said that he killed my parents because they stood up to him, stood in his way. If they had stood aside and let him kill me, they would have lived. But what I don't understand is why he wanted to kill me in the first place."

Dumbledore sighed again, very deeply this time. "Alas, the first thing you ask of me, I cannot tell you. Not today, not now. I must ask you to put the question from your mind. I will tell you one day, Harry, when you are older. It is a horrible thing to say, but I do not believe you are ready now. When you are, you will know."

Harry knew it would be no good to argue. He lay back on the pillow. "I'm very tired, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm sure you are. I've taken the liberty of anticipating some of your questions and have written you a short letter." He placed a folded bit of parchment on the table. "Ah, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them."

He held up a pale green candy. "However, I think I should be safe enough with a nice mint, don't you?" He popped it into his mouth. "Alas," he said, still chewing. "Pickle relish."

Madam Pomfrey was a nice woman, but she was very strict. Harry pleaded with her for an hour before she finally relented and gave permission for his friends to visit. Even so, she restricted them to coming in one at a time, and then only for five minutes.

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed as he rushed in the door.

"Hello, Draco," Harry smiled. "All right?"

"We've been so worried about you," Draco told him. "Pansy's eating everything in sight that Crabbe and Goyle haven't got to first; Blaise has _stopped_ eating; Millie can't sleep at night."

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "Just a bump on the head. I've had worse."

"Harry, the whole school is positively _thick_ with crazy stories. What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than even the wildest rumour. Harry told him everything: Quirrell, the mirror, the Stone, and Voldemort. Draco smiled at having been proven right about Quirrell.

"So it's gone, is it?"

"Yes," Harry said. "So what happened to all of you?"

"We all got back through fine," Draco answered. "Tim had been looking after Pansy. When Crabbe finally brought Madam Pomfrey down, Dumbledore came with them. He went right on through without so much as a word to us and brought you back out in his arms a few minutes later. He carried you right up here and hasn't let any of us near since."

"I should be up and around soon," Harry said hopefully.

"Just in time for the end-of-year feast tomorrow," Draco said gleefully. "The points are all in, and we flattened the other Houses. Gryffindor got smashed in their match against Ravenclaw."

"Good." Harry was delighted that his House had taken both Cups once again this year - he had been a part of that.

Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to come bustling over. "Alright, Mister Malfoy, that's been far longer than five minutes. The others are starting to froth at the mouth a bit. Get you gone."

Draco squeezed Harry's shoulder and got to his feet. Under Madam Pomfrey's stern gaze, he slouched out the door.

"_Harry!_" Blaise squealed as she flew to his side. She hugged him as best she could, her sudden weight driving the air from his lungs. Blonde hair covered his glasses and the smell of Blaise's shampoo was in his nose. Harry felt her lips mushed into his cheek. Then she sat up and latched onto his hand.

Harry steadfastly refused to give any of his other friends the story. Draco could tell it just as well as he, and he'd rather not repeat himself. The remainder of the visits were very low-key. Mostly they made small talk; sometimes they just sat with him.

After his visits, Harry felt tired indeed. He was just thinking he should take off his glasses when he fell asleep. His head tipped to the side, and the unruly black hair fell away from the scar on his forehead.

Madam Pomfrey gently removed his glasses and folded them on the table. She pulled the blanket up and tucked it under Harry's chin. "Rest easy, Mister Potter," she whispered.

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt almost himself again. He was awake bright and early in the morning when Madam Pomfrey came around to do bed checks, but had his hopes of being able to return to the dungeons dashed.

"Certainly not," she huffed. "You're to stay here all today for observation."

Harry was dreadfully bored for most of the day. He couldn't keep his attention on a book, and there were only so many times he could count the cracks in the ceiling (twenty-two). He was desperate for some sort of distraction when Madam Pomfrey bustled over and told him he had a visitor.

"Who is it?" he asked curiously. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

"You're not too busy to see me, I hope, Mister Potter," came a smooth baritone voice from the doorway.

"Professor!" said Harry, delighted at this development.

"How are you feeling, Mister Potter?" Snape asked, taking a seat by the bed.

"I'm bored, sir," Harry admitted. "I'd really like to leave."

Snape shook his head slightly. "I'm afraid you won't be leaving until Madam Pomfrey gives her say-so."

Harry sighed. He felt perfectly alright and just wanted to move about freely. He wanted to see his friends and relax in the Slytherin common room.

"What you did was highly risky, Mister Potter," Snape said in a lightly reproving tone.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. He looked up at his Head of House seriously. "But not doing anything would have been riskier."

Snape nodded. "Indeed, it would have been. What I'd like to know is why you didn't tell one of your prefects - why you didn't tell _me_."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. This was likely to be embarrassing. Haltingly, in half-sentences, he eventually gave Snape the whole story of everything that had gone on during the whole school year. He told about how the young Slytherins had suspected their Head. He told about how he had discovered the Mirror of Erised. He left nothing out.

When Harry had been silent for a few moments, Professor Snape leaned back in his chair. Tiredly, he rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know what to say, Mister Potter," he said. "You've certainly been up to no end of trouble this year."

Harry flushed slightly. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"But in the course of your adventures, the whole lot of you have displayed every exemplary trait of Slytherin House. I'm very proud of you all." Snape's voice was still low. Harry almost imagined he heard a slight catch in it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Though it's rather a paltry reward for some truly phenominal actions," Snape continued, "I'm awarding each of you five points. It should be many more, but Slytherin has already secured the House Cup this year."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, repeating himself. Points had been the last thing on his mind while down in the hidden chambers. "What time is the end-of-year feast, Professor?" he asked to change the subject.

"Around teatime," Snape answered.

"I'll be allowed do go, won't I?" Harry asked anxiously.

Snape smiled. "I'm sure that not even Madam Pomfrey would forbid you from spending some leisure time with your friends. Still, you will have to ask her."

"I can go to the feast, right?" he asked Madam Pomfrey as she came by to straighten up his bedside table.

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said sniffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be.

"There, you see, Mister Potter? All is well. I shall see you there." Professor Snape rose to his feet.

"Good-bye, sir."

Madam Pomfrey continued to fuss over him, and Harry put up with about half of her last minute final checkup. Finally the clock read five to, and he pushed her hands away.

"I'm going to be late," he said, adjusting his robes. He ignored her cross look and ducked out of the Hospital Wing. Trying not to run, he walked as quickly as he could down to the Great Hall where the first year Slytherins were standing outside the doors.

"You're late," Draco drawled at him.

"Draco!" Jenna admonished him.

"I'm lucky to be here this early," Harry told his friends. "Madam Pomfrey wanted to do all kinds of last minute checks. She's convinced the feast is going to be dangerous in some nefarious way."

"Nefarious?" Blaise giggled, poking him in the side.

"You be quiet," he teased her back.

"Can we go eat now?" Crabbe asked.

"You shut up too, fathead," Draco said.

"Don't tell him to shut up," Millie said, grabbing Draco by the arm and yanking him towards the door. "I'm famished too."

The doors opened and the nine students were bathed in a glow of light. The Great Hall was completely decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning of the House Cup, which was displayed at one end of the Slytherin table with the prefects. The Quidditch Cup was on display at the other end with the Quidditch team. A huge serpent banner covered the wall behind the High Table.

The dull roar in the Hall hushed suddenly, and then after a couple of uncomfortable moments, Harry raised his chin and marched over to sit down with the team. The others took the seats that had purposely been left empty nearby.

Dumbledore and the other Professors arrived moments later. The babble that had gradually resumed died away. As the Professors took their seats, the Headmaster remained standing.

"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully. "And now I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we tuck into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You have the whole summer to get them nice and empty before next year starts.

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup needs official presenting. The final points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred seventy points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred eighty-three points; in second, Ravenclaw, with four hundred twenty and Slytherin, five hundred three."

A storm of cheering broke out across the Slytherin table, Harry cheering as loud as the rest. Flint raised up the Quidditch Cup in both hands and waved it around. Bole and Derrick started a chant of "Sly-Ther-In!"

The cheering took some time to die down. Harry could see Professor Snape looking very eerie, wearing what appeared to be a smile. He looked over at Harry, as if he knew he was being watched, and nodded slightly as if to say, 'Well done.'

"Congratulations, Slytherin," Dumbledore said at last. "And now, let us feast!"

Harry set to the food with a ravenous appetite. He would have liked to avoid questions about what had happened down in the dungeons entirely, but his teammates were eager to hear about the test with the keys. He stayed away from the subject of Quirrell and anything having to do with Voldemort. After awhile the topic changed, and he began to actively participate in the conversation.

By Merlin, he loved life at Hogwarts. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving. He wrenched his thoughts away from that inevitability. Time enough to brood about it later.

Harry knew that he would remember the feast for the rest of his life. He would not forget the feeling he'd gotten when one of the sixth year girls, Heather Duke, brought out a camera to take pictures of the Quidditch team together with the prefects and both Cups. Pictures of all kinds were taken, at both the feast and the after-feast which happened back in the Slytherin common room.

The after-feast involved loud music, lots of sweets, and plenty of silliness on behalf of everyone. Elan assured him that this was typical of the end-of-year celebration when the House had taken both Cups. "Or just one of the Cups," he added reflectively. "Or any time we're not under the stress of school. You'll find out about those parties when you're older."

"Why just for the older kids? We've got stress too," Tim objected.

"It involves _alcohol_," Pansy said in an exaggerated tone.

Harry didn't know what time he went to bed, but the sun was starting to rise over the lake when he finally shut his curtains. He was out cold in half a heartbeat.

Exam results came the next day, and Harry opened his as eagerly as everyone else. To his extreme satisfaction, he passed with excellent marks all around. Tim and Blaise had done the best of the first year Slytherins. In fact, only Terry Boot of Ravenclaw and the Hermione Granger of Hufflepuff had scored higher marks in the rest of their form, the latter making both Draco and Tim furious. Even Crabbe and Goyle had managed to pass everything and earn at least one high mark.

Harry's best mark was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell hadn't been lying when he commented about Harry's mark, which was the highest of all the first years. His second-best mark was in Potions. Harry knew he'd earned it all.

Suddenly their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, and notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays. They were down at Hogsmeade Station, boarding the Hogwarts Express, loading their trunks into compartments, and taking seats. The Slytherin first years took two compartments and loaded all the luggage in one, fitting themselves in the other. It was a bit cramped, but none of them wanted to be separated until it was absolutely necessary.

They talked of everything and nothing as the countryside passed, growing greener and tidier with each passing kilometre. Eventually they changed out of their school robes and into regular clothing. Harry still blushed when the girls began to undress and went into the other compartment by himself.

All too soon, they were pulling into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station. It took quite awhile for them all to unload their trunks, stack up the carts, and get off the platform. Harry wasn't looking forward to going back through the barrier and meeting the Dursleys.

"Draco!" It was Mrs. Malfoy, waving as she started towards them.

"I can't believe you're stuck going back with the Muggles," Draco said, sounding upset. "You'd have loads more fun staying at Malfoy Manor this summer."

Harry hadn't been able to convince Professor Dumbledore to allow him to go stay with the Malfoy family. The Headmaster had merely stated that during the summer holiday, such a matter was to be decided by his guardians, and the Dursleys had not given any such permission.

"Harry," Mr. Malfoy said, shaking Harry's hand firmly. "It's a pleasure to see you again." Draco's father was as distinguished as ever. He still carried his black and silver cane.

"Thank you, sir," Harry answered. "Thank you for the Christmas present."

"I received your note, dear, very thoughtful," Mrs. Malfoy said to him. "_Some_ people could take an example from you."

"Um, yeah, thanks for the crystal, Mum," Elan said, flushing.

"What did you name him?" Mr. Malfoy asked Harry of his owl.

"Regal, sir," Harry replied. He'd thought for quite awhile before deciding on that name.

"An eminently suitable name," Mr. Malfoy noted with a smile. "Take good care of him."

"I will," Harry promised.

As they stepped through the barrier, they came face to face with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, looked absolutely furious at the nerve of Harry carrying a caged owl in a station full of ordinary people.

"Harry, these are your _relations_?" Mr. Malfoy said icily. He was staring directly at Vernon, his eyes cold and hard as agates. He was clearly speaking directly to Vernon in the third person.

"In a manner of speaking," Uncle Vernon said gruffly, sounding highly offended that this wizard was even looking at him. Behind him, Aunt Petunia stood with Dudley, who was looking terrified at the sight of the Malfoys. "Hurry up, boy, I haven't got all day." He turned and walked away, his family following.

"Friendly much, that lot?" Elan said coolly. "More of _that_ sort," he sneered. "Harry, I'm sorry we couldn't get you permission to come to the Manor."

"I'm still working on it, Harry," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly. "It can be absolute murder at the Ministry sometimes; piles of paperwork and red tape."

"As soon as possible, please," Harry reiterated, making sure his cart was secure. "I'll write."

"Bye, Harry!" Elan waved at him.

"I'll see you real soon," Draco told him. Harry nodded. They shook hands. Then Harry turned and pushed his trolley after the Muggles.

Finé


	20. Missing Scenes

**They Shook Hands : Year One**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Alpha - Missing Scenes from Year One**

Draco sighed with resignation as Alice put yet another robe over his head. This was the last, she had promised. That had been five robes ago. The shop owner, Madam Malkin, brought back another boy and stood him on a stool next to Draco. He didn't look as though he belonged in this fine establishment; his clothing was baggy and shabby. Perhaps he'd needed to pass as a Muggle. The seamstress slipped a long robe over the boy's head and began to pin it up to the right length.

"Hello." Draco was glad for anybody to talk to. The shop had been empty, and he'd had nothing to distract him from the tedium of a fitting. This boy was his own age from all appearances, and one could never start making connections too soon. It would be good to get to school and already know people. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said the boy.

"My father's next door buying my books, and mother's up the street looking at wands," said Draco, letting his boredom reflect in his voice. He would rather be at either of those two places than here in this stuffy shop. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I think I'll bully father into getting me one, and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Fat chance of bullying Father in to anything. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No," said the boy.

"Play Quidditch at all?" Draco had been flying for years out behind Malfoy Manor. His playmates, children of his father's friends, had flown with him in many games of Quidditch. They didn't have a full seven players on each team, of course, but they could practice all of the moves at least. When the older siblings and their friends came by, a rough and tumble match nearly always ensued. The rivalry was good-natured, but no less the vicious for it.

"No," said the boy again.

A new player! Outstanding! But mustn't appear too eager. Maintain decorum and dignity. "I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. I'll need that new broom, though. I've got a Comet Two-Sixty right now, top of the line, but it's not a professional broom by any means. I don't see why first years can't have them. It's just not fair."

The boy nodded.

"Know what house you'll be in yet?" Anybody who was Somebody knew the answer to that question before he so much as set foot on the Hogwarts Express.

"No."

This boy obviously wasn't Somebody. Still, it didn't always go according to plan. His mother's family was evidence of that. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin; all our family have been. Speaking of family, what's your surname?"

"Oh, I'm Harry, Harry Potter. Ow!"

The exclamation came as Madam Malkin missed a stroke and stabbed him with the needle.

Harry Potter!

Draco could barely believe his luck. Father had stressed repeatedly to him that he should seek out and befriend Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the defeater of the Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named. The whole of Britain regarded Harry Potter as a hero. He had been in exile for ten years, apparently, but his name was on the list at Hogwarts. It was very important that he be friendly towards the Malfoy family, and it was Draco's task to make it happen.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry dear." She turned to her assistant. "Imagine that, Alice, Harry Potter himself coming in to my shop for his robes." She tittered again and continued her hemming.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he sized Harry up. "From all the stories they tell about you, I thought you'd be taller," he said. It was true, Harry was only a fraction taller than him. If Draco could break the ice, he would be able to turn on the Malfoy charm and have them both laughing at the world.

"I'm not short!" Harry protested.

Draco smirked at having provoked a reaction. The ice was broken. "Never said you were. Father told me that you were my age, but I had no idea we'd meet before getting to school. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

He held out his hand. Harry shook it. "Nice to meet you."

Every compartment was full. None of the other groups of first years had room for him. He had felt weird asking second years, complete strangers, if he could sit with them, but the Gryffindors had politely enough turned him away. Why hadn't the first years been assigned seats together so that they could begin to mingle? Ron Weasley had no choice but to trail after his brothers and throw himself upon their tender mercies.

He was doomed.

It wasn't hard to find the twins. Their laughter was clear even in the corridor. With resignation, he knocked on the compartment door and opened it.

"Hey, guys. Mind if I join you?"

"Awww, Ickle Ronnikins didn't make any new fwends today?" Fred mocked in a babyish voice.

"Stuff it, Fred. Everywhere else is just full, that's all."

"What do you think, lads? Shall we lower ourselves so much as to consort with an ickle firstie?"

"Only if he meets the conditions," George declared.

Oh hell. By Merlin's baggy y-fronts, he was dead. Whenever the twins attached conditions to a favour, it was bound to be painful, humiliating, dangerous, or any combination thereof.

"No conditions," he said, sitting down on the empty seat and resting his feet on his trunk.

"Yes, conditions," Lee Jordan agreed. "I'll let you sit with us _if_-"

"If, nothing."

"-_if_ you can wear my tarantula on your head for ten seconds."

"N-no," Ron stuttered as a horrendous shiver wracked his body. He hated spiders, and the twins knew it. They were the ones who'd _given_ him that fear! They'd told Jordan, and now Jordan had a great, bloody tarantula!

"Yes, yes," Jordan said, reaching down and picking up a box.

"Keep that thing away from me!" Ron pulled out his wand. He didn't know any magic against spiders, but hopefully his panic would set off a fire spell or something useful.

"_Petrificus totalis!_" George incanted.

Ron stiffened up like a board, and his wand fell to the floor. Helpless, he stared up at the ceiling as the three third year boys' heads loomed over him.

"Now then, hold still," Fred quipped.

Lee Jordan opened the box and set it on Ron's chest. Slight pressure on his chest made him want to scream and thrash, but he could not move. When a tickle came at his neck, Ron wanted to cry from sheer fear.

_Let it be over soon_, he prayed.

When black, hairy legs inched in to his field of vision, that field collapsed as he fainted dead away.

"So that's Harry Potter, is it?" Millie said as she closed the compartment door behind her.

"He's so cute!" Blaise gushed. "That hair, I just want to run my fingers through it. How can it be so untidy yet so irresistable?"

"Crushing much?" Pansy asked blithely. "Better not let him notice."

"What do you think, Pansy? You've got the right ideas about boys."

"He's handsome enough, I suppose. The glasses need to go, though."

"He needs clothes, too. How do we do that without hurting his feelings?"

"Christmas," Pansy responded. "Perfect cover."

Blaise quivered with excitement. "I can't believe we met him on the train. I can't believe Draco made friends with him in Diagon Alley. I can't believe I'm friends with him. Do you know what I mean?"

Pansy gave her a withering glare. "I know my mother told me not to lose my head around him. It would be extremely vulgar to make an issue of his fame, given the circumstances. For Merlin's sake, girl, pull yourself together."

Blaise pulled on a serious face. "You're right, of course. My mother gave me the same lecture. But he's in the next compartment. Give me this moment, will you?"

As Professor McGonagall explained how the Sorting Ceremony would proceed, Hermione Granger breathed a sigh of relief. It would be so simple! She wouldn't need any of the spells she'd worked hard to memorize. After all the whispered speculations about the Sorting Ceremony, all it involved was getting up in front of the rest of her classmates and putting a hat on her head.

She felt her heart lurch in her chest. Standing up in front of her classmates. Oh God. She quailed, trying to keep her knees from shaking. She hated it when everyone was watching her.

And those awful boys, they'd be watching her too. She wibbled. Why'd they have to be so mean to her? She'd just been trying to help that Neville boy find his toad. Then she'd seen Harry Potter.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so blunt about it, but she'd been so surprised. It was _Harry Potter_! He was so famous! He was a hero to the whole world. How could she _not_ be excited to meet him?

Then his wizard friends had jumped all over her. Without even knowing anything about her, they hadn't liked her. Not even the most credibly justified outrage over a minor bit of rudeness could account for their venom and vitriol.

They'd called her a Mudblood. She didn't know what that word meant. And they had thought less of her because her parents were non-magical. The way they had spoken the word Muggle, it seemed almost distasteful to them.

"Hermione Granger!"

She practically jumped out of her skin. Lost in her thoughts, Hermione had been caught off-guard. But now it was her time! This was it! Her nervousness vanished. Suddenly eager, she hurried up to the stool and jammed the hat on her head.

"Hello there." The voice startled her. It seemed as though a close friend were telling her a secret. The voice in her ear was warm and inviting.

"Now then, Miss Granger. Ah, I see you've been looking forward to this ever since you got your letter."

_Very much so_, she thought. If the Hat could look into her head to find her place, it could probably read her thoughts as well.

"Where shall I place you, hrmm? You've got a keen intellect, that's good. You might do quite well in Ravenclaw."

_I'd been hoping for Gryffindor._

"Gryffindor, eh? I don't think that's possible. You're not terribly brave, you know. You've got a world of ambition, that's plain to see. Unfortunately, Slytherin's House is not the place for you."

_Why not?_ she demanded silently.

"Your blood, my dear. You were born of the union of two Muggles, and Salazar Slytherin would turn over in his grave were I to send you to his House."

_Because I'm a Mudblood?_ she snapped back.

"That term is extremely vulgar," the Hat chided her. "The proper term is Muggleborn."

_Something so silly as my blood will mark me?_ She couldn't help feeling angry about that.

"I do but enforce the will of the Founders," it said to her. "And Salazar Slytherin would never have chosen you."

_So where does that leave me?_

"I can see that you want to get right to it, yes? You're not at all afraid of hard work. Seems to me, the logical place for you would be HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hermione Granger was in a daze. She followed the crowd of Hufflepuffs as they orderly filed through the corridors and into the Hufflepuff common room. Once they had arrived, the prefects had sat all the first years down in the comfortable chairs around the fire.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff!" the seventh-year prefect said. "You're going to love it here. Don't let what the other houses say get you down. I know you've heard some students go on about our noble house, but it's all propaganda. Hufflepuff is a wonderful place, filled with wonderful people. Hufflepuffs stick together through thick and thicker. If you can help your mates, you should, even if it's dangerous, because your mates would do the same for you."

That was good to hear. Hermione had heard lots of gossip on the train. Plenty of students had bad-mouthed Hufflepuff. It was good to know that her house wasn't filled with duffers.

"Now, I know a lot of you are Muggleborn. You've seen a lot in the past few hours, and I know you're probably pretty nervous about magic. Let me tell you, magic will soon be like an old friend. I'm Muggleborn myself, and the first year or so was a big adjustment. We'll actually be holding little seminars here in the common room to help bring you up to speed."

Oh what a relief! Hermione had read through her course books over and over during the summer. She had actually memorized the better part of most them, nursing a steadily growing panic that she was going to fail miserably at being a witch. She'd dragged her parents back to Diagon Alley twice after their initial trip to raid Flourish & Blotts for some more background information on just what sort of a world she was getting herself into.

"That first summer holiday, though, not being able to use magic was pretty abrupt. I really felt disconnected from my old life. It's not easy to get used to this new identity. I want you to know that we've all been there. We're here for you. Hufflepuffs care, and they let you know they care. One of Hufflepuff's signature group hugs is guaranteed to cure all that ails you."

Group hugs? Hermione the Muggle would have thought such a declaration extremely strange. Hermione the Muggleborn witch, though, was feeling decidedly out of touch. A little gesture of comfort and reassurance actually sounded quite nice.

"I'll stop here. You all look exhausted. Get some sleep, and be back here first thing in the morning. We'll give out your schedules and discuss how the Tour works."

Ron and Seamus went straight to bed after returning from dinner. They would need to be well-rested for the duel scheduled for midnight. He had never fought in a duel, nor had he ever seen one. What Ron knew, he knew only from stories his father had told, stories his older brothers had passed on.

"It's not like we'll actually be able to do anything to each other," Ron said to Seamus as they got dressed. Dean Thomas had stayed up late and had woken them both at half eleven.

"At most you'll be able to shoot sparks at each other," Seamus told him. "It's nothing to worry about."

"Malfoy's such a git," Ron said disdainfully.

"Yeah," Seamus said. He double-checked his wand. "Are we ready to go?"

As they sauntered casually down the steps to the common room, they saw that it was deserted. They opened the portrait hole and looked out. The coast appeared to be clear. They carefully stepped out into the corridor.

"So far, so good," Ron said. "Let's hurry."

They didn't run, but they _did_ take double-quick steps. They hurried up the stairs to the third floor. Ron darted around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Seamus, hurrying behind him, crashed into his back, making them both fall to the floor. Ron stared up from his prone position in fear.

Professor McGonagall stood there with her arms folded across her chest. She stared over her glasses and down her nose at them. Her lips were a thin white line, pressed together tightly. Her nostrils flared as she took deep breaths.

"Urk!" Seamus made a most unusual sound.

"Mister Weasley," the Professor said coldly, "Mister Finnigan. _Where_ do you presume to be going at this hour?"

"The, uh, the..." Seamus attempted to come up with a convincing story. He failed.

"We were just going out for a walk," Ron said hastily. It sounded weak, even to him.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley," she said to them in clipped, no-nonsense tones. "Why are you out of Gryffindor Tower?"

Ron sputtered, trying to come up with something she would believe. Seamus went silent.

"Mister Weasley, stop your transparent attempts to conceal the truth from me." She reached down and grabbed ahold of his ear. "Tell me where you were going in such a hurry." She gave his ear a sharp twist.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. There was nothing for it, he would have to tell her. Professor McGonagall was as inexorable as his Mum.

"We were going to the trophy room," he squeaked.

"Ron, shut up!" Seamus hissed at him.

"Silence, Mister Finnigan." She kept Ron's ear in a firm grasp. "Why?"

"Ow! Going to duel Draco Malfoy! And Harry Potter! Leggo!"

She didn't let go of him. "Back to Gryffindor Tower," she ordered them. "Right now. Come on, march."

And so she hauled them both back downstairs. In the entrance hall they met Mr. Filch, the caretaker.

"Evenin', Professor," he said in his gravelly voice. "Students outta bed, 'ave you?"

"Indeed," she answered him. "And I believe there may be more. Two more students may be in the trophy room. I shall leave you to deal with them."

Filch's eyes lit up. "Oh yes, that would be lovely. Come, Mrs. Norris." And they swept off in a hurry.

"Move!"

Professor McGonagall _still_ had ahold of Ron's ear. When she finally released him outside the portrait hole, the blood rushed back into it with a dull ache. He clapped one hand to the side of his head.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for being outside the Tower past curfew," she said sharply. "Now get to bed."

They ran for the dorm.

"Elan, welcome home," Narcissa Malfoy said, enfolding her eldest son in a hug as he stepped out of the fireplace.

"Mother," he said, dropping his bag. "You look lovely."

"Thank you, dear." She looked expectantly at the fireplace. "Where is your brother?"

"He's not coming. Let's go see Father." Elan's voice was flat and unemotional. He followed his mother as she led the way to Lucius' study. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the invitation in Lucius' polished, urbane speaking voice.

"Father," Elan inclined his head.

"Elan!" Lucius stood up from his desk and clasped his son by the shoulders. "You look well. Where is your brother?"

"He's not coming," Elan said, wanting to get the bad news out of the way as fast as possible.

Lucius' face clouded. "Not coming?" he said cooly. His eyes were flashing. "How very interesting. I trust he has a good explanation for this."

"He stayed at school to keep Harry Potter company. Harry's Muggle guardians refused to give him permission to leave school." Elan was not pleased at having to be the bearer of this news.

"And he couldn't bother to tell us himself?" Lucius resumed his seat and picked up his quill, seeming to treat the matter with no significance.

"I told him that I wouldn't defend his actions, Father." And so he had. Draco would just have to answer to Lucius himself with no one to intercede for him.

"His tact certainly leaves much to be desired," Lucius noted. "But I can guess at why he has done this thing."

"Father?" Elan was puzzled. He would've sworn that his father would be furious, yet the man was acting calm, as if he were discussing the weather.

"His friendship with Harry Potter is a good thing," Lucius said, scribbling something down. "It would not be prudent to be less than fond of Harry Potter, and a friendship with him is even better. A boy who could bring down the century's most powerful Dark Lord is not one we would want as an enemy. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was destroyed, the shadow was lifted, and I could live without fear again." He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't wish the Dark Lord returned, I am grateful to Potter for that. Obviously the Sorting Hat saw his potential for greatness as well. When the boy grows older, we shall make alliance with him. It's good for our family."

Draco Malfoy had been dragged out of the Slytherin common room in the middle of the night because his best mate had found an enchanted mirror that showed him his parents. Then, of course, he couldn't find it again. They'd wandered around the castle for hours under Harry's invisibility cloak before finally finding the stupid suit of armour that marked the right room. Now Harry was gazing rapturously in to the mirror with a blissful peace on his face.

"There they are," he said softly. "See?"

"I can't see anything," Draco told him.

"Look! Right there! There's so many of them!"

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly," Harry said, dragging Draco to the place where he was standing. Draco looked up and nearly fell down as a tremendous jolt of amazement set his skin tingling.

"You see them!" Harry cheered.

Draco stared wide-eyed into the mirror. "Look at me," he whispered. He was taller, more handsome, with an easy smile on his face. He was wearing official Slytherin Quidditch robes and pads, with the captain's insignia blazoned on the chest. He carried the Quaffle in his hands, tossing it idly back and forth.

"What do you see?" Harry asked. "Do you see your family?"

"It's me," Draco breathed, not even believing it. The boy in the mirror looked like his brother, but Draco knew it was himself. "I'm older though. I look like Elan. But I'm not a prefect like him, I'm Quidditch Captain!"

The rest of the team was there too. Harry, of course, played Seeker, but Millie and Tim were there too. Crabbe and Goyle carried Beater's bats. His team. His friends.

And they _were_ his friends, Draco could see. The older versions in the mirror were laughing and joking easily with each other. The warmth in their eyes when they looked at each other was unmistakable, and Draco felt his soul cry out in need.

He'd never really had friends. He knew children of his father's associates, but he'd always been reminded that he was better than they, more important. The Malfoy bloodline was just about as distinguished as they came. There were only about a dozen distinct lines anymore. There were newer families, all-magic families - and those were very important according to Father - but Malfoys were superior.

Oh, he'd called them his friends quick enough when he'd met Harry Potter. It wouldn't do for him to be seen as not having friends to such a person. Why would the Boy-Who-Lived want to be friends with someone whom nobody else liked either? But Crabbe and Goyle weren't much in the way of intellect, while Tim was entirely too clever for his own good. Millie's behaviour scandalized Mrs. Bulstrode, as she had told Mother during one visit to Malfoy Manor. Pansy was usually too busy bickering with Tim to be much fun, and her tongue was too sharp for his tastes.

But none of that mattered to the six children in the mirror. They were whooping and cheering as they celebrated a great triumph.

"You're there too, Slytherin's star Seeker. There's Millie and Tim, and we're all Chasers. We've stomped Gryffindor into the ground and taken the Quidditch Cup! Weasley's lying on the pitch bawling his eyes out!"

"Move over," Harry said. "I want to look again."

"You had it all last night," Draco said, not budging.

"You're just holding the Quidditch Cup," Harry argued. "What's so interesting about that?"

What was so interesting about breathing?

"I'm watching Weasley bleed his life out onto the grass." Weasley wasn't worth the breath it took to speak his name, and thrashing him soundly during a Quidditch match sounded grand.

"I want to see my parents."

"Don't shove me!"

A sudden noise in the corridor put an end to their discussion. Scarcely daring to breathe, Draco realized they'd been talking very loudly. "Under the cloak!"

Ron knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut. Inside, Fang barked loudly, and he could hear Hagrid wrestling the boarhound back. The door opened with a loud creak.

"A'right, whattaya want now, yeh little- oh, hallo there. Who're you?" Hagrid was bleary-eyed. He peered at Ron, trying to focus.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron told the gamekeeper.

"Well I'm in no mood fer entertainin'," Hagrid said shortly. "Good-bye."

"I know about the dragon egg," he said as Hagrid shut the door in his face. The door opened back up again.

"Oh," Hagrid said. "Do yeh. Come in, then."

As he took a seat at Hagrid's table, the big man drank noisily from a large pewter tankard. "What kin I do fer yeh?"

Ron did his best to look earnest and sincere. "I want to help you out. I overheard those slimy Slytherins plotting, and they shouldn't get away with that. I think I've got an idea."

"Idea?" Hagrid's voice was hopeful.

"Yes," Ron nodded. "Do you remember my brother Charlie?"

"Yeah," Hagrid said, scratching at his beard. "Best Seeker Gryffindor had seen in years. He were always interested in magical creatures, as I recall."

"He's living in Romania right now, working at a dragon ranch."

"A _dragon_ ranch?" Hagrid was looking incredulous, as though his fortune were too good to be believed.

"That's right," Ron told him. "And I bet if we asked him, he'd help you get rid of that egg."

Hagrid's face fell. "I dinae want ter be givin' up me egg."

"It's either that or a world of trouble from those evil Slytherins," Ron argued. "This is the smartest thing to do."

Hagrid heaved a huge sigh that sent the wind whistling through the tiny hut. "Yer right. Alright, do what yeh think oughta be done."

"I'll write to him tonight and see if he can help."

"Why're yeh helpin' me?" Hagrid wanted to know.

"Because I can," Ron told him. "Anything to spike those Slytherins' wheel."

"Hagrid!" Charlie's voice was bright as he shook the gamekeeper's hand. "So good to see you again!"

"Charlie Weasley! Lordy, how the time does fly. You're looking well!" Hagrid sounded truly pleased to see the former Hogwarts student.

"It's been too long," Charlie said. "I wish I could get back home more often, but work keeps me so busy. We had a Ridgeback go rampaging a week ago, and I've never cast so many Memory Charms."

"Exciting life, dragon handling?" Hagrid asked wistfully. "I always wanted a dragon o' me own."

Charlie nodded. "And that's what this is all about, isn't it. Ron told me you were having a little bit of trouble with that."

"I won this 'ere dragon egg in a game o' cards, and now I got some students who're wantin' ter blackmail me."

"Are they Slytherins?" Charlie asked knowingly.

"Sneaky bastards," Hagrid growled. "First years and already up to no end of no good."

"Well, we'll spike their wheel," Charlie said encouragingly. He scratched Norbert under the chin, smacking his nose as the dragon tried to bite his fingers. "Little Norbert here will come with me, and that'll be all to that. He'll be happy there. There's a big mother who just hatched her own eggs, and he'll fit right in."

Charlie got to his feet and drew his wand. With a wave and a muttered spell, Norbert was encased in a wooden crate. Another spell levitated the crate and sent it out the door.

"I wish yeh could stay," Hagrid said. "But I know it's risky business when yeh ought not even be in Britain."

Charlie shook the big man's hand. "You've done the right thing about Norbert, Hagrid. We'll take good care of him. Why not come to Romania this summer and visit him? Just owl me, ok?"

"Thank yeh, Charlie. I owe yeh a favour."

Tim knelt down beside Pansy's bruised and battered body. She was unconscious, thankfully. The faint rise and fall of her chest proclaimed that she still clung to life, though if she didn't get proper medical treatment. . .

He muttered a basic Healing Charm, one designed to take away minor physical pain. It wasn't much, but it was something. He cast it twice more, hoping the repetition would have a cumulative effect. He vowed to himself right then that he would learn as much as he could about Healing magic.

"Pansy, I'm sorry," he said to her. "I wish there had been another way." He took her hand in his. "Oh Pans, please be alright. I don't know what I'd do without you. God, my life would probably be so boring." He knew she couldn't hear him, which is probably the only reason he spoke out loud, but what he said was true; Pansy _did_ make his life more interesting.

He began to recall images from all the years that he and Pansy had known each other. There was Pansy, age four, whacking him in the face with her toy broomstick. Pansy, age six, and he'd just dumped a bucket of frog guts over her head. Age seven, when they'd grown weary of waiting for the snow to fall and had started a rock fight in Pansy's back yard. Two years ago, when she'd tried to drown him in the pool at Casa de Nott.

Tim began to hum a half-remembered tune. With his fingers interlaced with Pansy's, he tried to think positive thoughts. Everything would be fine. He just had to keep on believing.

"Oi, Tim," Draco said, sinking down across from him. "How is she?"

"The same," Tim said in a barely audible voice. Blaise knelt down next to him and placed her hand over his, which was still twined with Pansy's. She reached up her other hand and brushed away a tear that had mysteriously appeared on his cheek.

The seven Slytherins sat in silence for awhile. Prayers were whispered into the shadows. All of their thoughts were with Harry, confronting unknown dangers without them.

"Draco!" came Crabbe's voice from across the board. They looked up to see Madam Pomfrey bustling over just as fast as she could. Surprise of all surprises, Professor Dumbledore was with them as well. He didn't even look at the students, rushing right through the door past the white chess pieces.

"Oh dearie me, we have had a bit of trouble, haven't we?" Madam Pomfrey said as she performed her checks. "She's fortunate to be all in one piece. Well, don't just sit there! We're going up to the Hospital Wing."

"Do as she says," came Dumbledore's voice as he came back through the door. The eight Slytherins gasped when they saw that he carried an unconscious Harry in his arms. "I believe he will be perfectly alright," he said, forestalling their questions, "but here is no place for an extended discussion."

As he carried Harry past the to the exit, the faintest flash of red was seen as the torchlight flickered off of something Harry held tight in his hands. . .


End file.
